CHAPTER XI

A LONG DISPUTE ENDED

Such a queer company called for a queer table. This was long and narrow, and the dishes were placed all on one side. Steps led up to the other side for the waiters to ascend, for not one of the Coons was tall enough, even when he stood on tiptoes, to reach the top of the table from the floor.

The three Bears sat in the middle, with Buddie on the right and the Donkey on the left; and, in order to “keep peace in the family,” as the saying goes, Doctor Fox had been seated at one end of the table and Doctor Goose at the other. But, as we shall see, this arrangement did not long keep them from quarreling.

It was strictly a vegetarian dinner, and no two guests, except the Bears, had the same thing to eat. The Bears, of course, had porridge. There was a big bowl of it for the Great Huge Bear, a middle-sized bowl for the Middle Bear, and a wee bowl for the Little Small Wee Bear.

“And I suppose,” thought Buddie, “the Great Hooge Bear’s porridge would be too hot for me, and the Middle Bear’s too cold, and the Little Small Wee Bear’s just right. Goodness! Aren’t they going to give _me_ anything to eat?” She had suddenly discovered that her plate was empty.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” said the Great Huge Bear, “so I thought I’d let you order.”

Buddie was much embarrassed. For one thing, everybody stopped talking and watched her curiously; and for another, she hadn’t the least idea what to ask for, except porridge, and she didn’t like that very well.

“Order anything you like,” said the Great Huge Bear.

“Some porridge, please,” Buddie at last decided. Porridge would be better than nothing.

“Sam!” called the Great Huge Bear.

“Yessir!” replied the Oldest Coon, running up on the table.

“A bowl of porridge for Just Buddie.”

“There ain’t no more porridge,” said the Oldest Coon.

“Anything else?” inquired the Great Huge Bear, anxiously.

“Have you any meat and potatoes?” Buddie asked the Oldest Coon, who again shook his head.

“Well, what _have_ you got?” asked Buddie. The Great Huge Bear meant well, no doubt, but evidently his pantry was not stocked with things that little girls like.

“Honey and blueberries?” suggested Sam.

“Goody!” cried Buddie; and the Oldest Coon fetched a big dishful. And you may be sure they were good, Little One, for bears are great judges of honey and blueberries.

When every one had finished dinner the Donkey rapped on the table and announced that, by request, he wished to make a short speech.

“Hear! hear!” shrieked the Loon, and Buddie, who sat next him, jumped.

“Birds and quadrupeds,” began the Donkey (this wasn’t exactly the equivalent for “Ladies and gentlemen,” but it did very well), “I propose a toast in honor of the charming young person whose birthday we have gathered to celebrate, the Little Small Wee Bear.”

“Hear! hear!” shrieked the Loon, and Buddie jumped again.

“We _can’t_ hear if you don’t keep quiet,” she said sharply.

“May she have many happy returns of this happy, happy day,” went on the Donkey, “and may the troubles she must grin and bear be few and far between.”

This speech was received with loud cheering, which ended in a dispute between the rival Doctors.

“Bear and grin!” Doctor Fox shouted down the table.

“Grin and bear!” Doctor Goose shouted back.

“I leave it to my learned friend,” said Doctor Fox, appealing to the Donkey.

“Who shall decide when doctors disagree?” said the Donkey, wagging his head.

“Suppose _you_ decide!” cried both the Doctors in a breath.

“Hear! hear!” shrieked the excited Loon, and everybody leaned forward to watch the Donkey.

He seemed to feel the importance of his position. He put on a very thoughtful look, pursed up his lips and wrinkled his brows. You would hardly believe, Little One, that a donkey could look so wise.

“It seems to me,” he said at last, “that the question, Which came first, the bear or the grin? is very much the same as that other problem, Which came first, the hen or the egg?”

“That’s it! Which did?” cried the Doctors.

“That,” replied the Donkey, “is not to be answered offhand. No question in metaphysics _can_ be. Truth, as you know, lies at the bottom of a well, and the deeper the question the deeper the well. Such a simple problem as why a rabbit wabbles his nose, or why hair does not grow on the inside of a skull instead of the outside, or why a fly rubs his forelegs together, lies on the surface of the Well of Truth, and may be skimmed off; but problems like the one we are now considering lie deep down, and a long rope and a stout bucket are needed to fetch up the answer.”

“Precisely!” exclaimed the Doctors, trembling with excitement.

“Which came first, the hen or the egg? Wise men and donkeys have debated the question for centuries, but, so far as I know, it never before has been settled.” The Donkey paused, and for a moment seemed lost in thought.

“So!” thought Buddie. “It’s going to be settled _now_; that’s certain.”

“At first glance,” went on the Donkey, “it would seem that the hen came first. Such is the opinion of my learned friend, Doctor Long-ears. For, he says, if there had been no hen to set on the eggs--”

“Sit,” corrected Doctor Fox.

“Set,” contradicted Doctor Goose.

“If there had been no hen to _hatch_ the egg,” continued the Donkey, skilfully avoiding a fresh dispute, “the egg experiment must have come to a sudden end.”

“My opinion exactly!” declared Doctor Goose.

“These are the _conclusions_ of Doctor Long-ears. His argument, as written, fills three large books.”

“With pictures?” asked Buddie.

“Without pictures.”

“They must be stupid books,” thought Buddie.

“On the other hand,” resumed the Donkey, “Doctor Heehaw, another learned donkey of my acquaintance, proves just as conclusively that the egg came first. For, he asks, if there had been no egg for the hen to hatch, what was the use of the hen? You may say that the egg may have hatched without the hen. I reply: suppose it had hatched out a rooster?”

“What then?” asked Doctor Fox, anxiously.

“Um!” replied the Donkey. “To sum up the arguments: if the hen came first, it presupposes the existence of the egg; whereas, if the egg came first, it presupposes the existence of the hen--neither of which presuppositions agrees with the other in gender, number or case.”

“Nothing could be clearer,” cried both Doctors.

“Therefore, in the matter of bear and grin, as of hen and egg, I firmly believe--I always have believed--and nothing I may hereafter read, hear or think can alter my opinion--that BOTH CAME TOGETHER!”

Even Buddie joined in the applause that followed this remarkable decision, which put an end to the dispute for all time. The rival Doctors embraced each other, exclaiming, “Why didn’t _we_ think of that?” and everybody congratulated the Donkey upon his profound wisdom and clear reasoning. And, to do him justice, he accepted the praise with uncommon modesty.

* * * * *

What is that, Little One? Didn’t the hen lay the egg? Very likely. But I shouldn’t think any more about it, if I were you. A great many grown-ups have puzzled over this problem until their minds became a perfect jumble of eggs and hens, and their brains turned into omelets. After all, the Donkey’s explanation is as good as another’s; and I am not at all sure it isn’t the right one.