“It is—it is!” cried the Cookie Cook, and rushing forward she fell on her knees and threw her arms around the precious pan. But her arms came together without meeting any resistance at all. Cayke tried to seize the edge, but found nothing to grasp. The pan was surely there, she thought, for she could see it plainly; but it was not solid; she could not feel it at all. With a moan of astonishment and despair she raised her head to look at the Bear King, who was watching her actions curiously. Then she turned to the pan again, only to find it had completely disappeared.

“Poor creature!” murmured the King pityingly. “You must have thought, for the moment, that you had actually recovered your dishpan. But what you saw was merely the image of it, conjured up by means of my magic. It is a pretty dishpan, indeed, though rather big and awkward to handle. I hope you will someday find it.”

Cayke was grievously disappointed. She began to cry, wiping her eyes on her apron. The King turned to the throng of toy bears surrounding him and asked:

“Has any of you ever seen this golden dishpan before?”

“No,” they answered in a chorus.

The King seemed to reflect. Presently he inquired:

“Where is the Little Pink Bear?”

“At home, Your Majesty,” was the reply, “Fetch him here,” commanded the King.

Several of the bears waddled over to one of the trees and pulled from its hollow a tiny pink bear, smaller than any of the others. A big white bear carried the pink one in his arms and set it down beside the King, arranging the joints of its legs so that it would stand upright.

This Pink Bear seemed lifeless until the King turned a crank which protruded from its side, when the little creature turned its head stiffly from side to side and said in a small shrill voice:

“Hurrah for the King of Bear Center!”

“Very good,” said the big Lavender Bear; “he seems to be working very well today. Tell me, my Pink Pinkerton, what has become of this lady’s jeweled dishpan?”

“U—u—u,” said the Pink Bear, and then stopped short.

The King turned the crank again.

“U-g-u the Shoemaker has it,” said the Pink Bear.

“Who is Ugu the Shoemaker?” demanded the King, again turning the crank.

“A magician who lives on a mountain in a wickerwork castle,” was the reply.

“Where is this mountain?” was the next question.

“Nineteen miles and three furlongs from Bear Center to the northeast.”

“And is the dishpan still at the castle of Ugu the Shoemaker?” asked the King.

“It is.”

The King turned to Cayke.

“You may rely on this information,” said he. “The Pink Bear can tell us anything we wish to know, and his words are always words of truth.”

“Is he alive?” asked the Frogman, much interested in the Pink Bear.