You see he did not know, never having seen such a toy before, and never
having heard of machinery--Ski's father did not know what a delightful
toy the Plush Bear was. All he thought of was bad luck and magic.

Quickly Ski's father hitched his team of dogs to the long, low wooden
sled.

Crack! went the long whip over their heads, but the Eskimo man did not
let the lash fall on the animals.

Over the snow and ice they drew the sled, on which Ski's father sat well
wrapped in fur blankets. Nearer they came to the workshop of Santa
Claus--the "big igloo" as Ski had called it.

"I will leave the magic bear that moves beneath one of the windows,"
murmured Ski's father. "Then will the bad luck pass from us."

He guided his dog team up under the very window out of which Ski had
taken the bear, for the man could see Ski's footprints in the snow.

"There! Now I am done with you!" whispered Ski's father, as he dropped
the Plush Bear in the snow and turned his dog team around to go back to
his igloo.

As for the Plush Bear, his head moved, he growled, and his paws waved to
and fro as long as the spring was wound up. But when it ran down, as it
did in a little while, he was motionless. Except that now, as no one
could see him, he was allowed to make believe come to life and could do
as he pleased.