CHAPTER XIXDISENCHANTMENT
“Why does a rabbit wabble his nose?”
Not even Echo replied.
Buddie waited a little while, her ears strained for the slightest whisper in response; but, none coming, she shouted the question a second time.
Still no answer.
“I’m afraid Truth isn’t at home to-day,” said Buddie, getting up from her knees. “Why, where have they gone?”
Not a soul was in sight. She was again alone in the wood.
“I’m sure I didn’t look up this time,” she said, perplexed and grieved by the disappearance of her friends. “And—what’s become of The Well?”
The curb, the posts and the legend they supported had also vanished. All that remained was the cylinder-bore in the solid rock.
For the first time that day Buddie began to feel frightened. The cascade no longer tinkled; it thundered. The wild river, stained with the juices of burnt land and swamp land, its dark breast flecked with the foam of countless falls and rapids, rushed by within a foot or two of where she stood, and the ledge trembled under the mighty blows of the plunging torrent. White arms seemed to reach up from the pool to draw her into the black water, and the flying spray wet her face. Terrified, she ran back among the trees, threw herself on the mossy floor of the wood, and hid her face in her arms.
Thus she had lain for some minutes, a dreadful fear tightening around her little heart, when suddenly a familiar sound brought her scrambling to her feet. It was Colonel’s bark; but it seemed a long way off, across the river. As it was not instantly repeated she began to fear shehad heard it only in imagination; but presently the cheerful voice of the faithful Yellow Dog sounded again above the roar of the falls, and Buddie ran down to the river, calling “Colonel! Colonel!”
An especially happy yelp answered her, and the Yellow Dog burst through the brush on the river’s farther bank. But instead of crossing on the boulders, which were conveniently disposed for a bridge, he ran back into the wood. He was out again in a moment, wagging his tail and barking joyously, as much as to say: “Here she is! Could any black or brown dog have done better?”
Back he flung into the brush, and when next he appeared a man came with him. Buddie recognized Mr. Goodell, a land-looker who frequently stopped at the log house by the lake.
“Hello; Buddie!” called the land-looker, in his big good-natured voice. “Don’t stand so near the water, little girl, or you’ll tumble in. Good dog!”—patting Colonel, who was nowfrantic with delight and cleared the stream in two bounds.
Mr. Goodell made the passage more carefully. A slip meant a ducking, if nothing worse.
“So you paddled into the woods and got lost, eh?” remarked the land-looker, unswinging his pack from his back and proceeding to fill his pipe. “Seem’s if I’ve heard your ma say something about that sort o’ thing.”
“But the bears didn’t eat me up,” said Buddie, recalling her mother’s familiar warning.
“Well, I guess there ain’t many bear about here,” said the land-looker with a smile.
“I saw three,” said Buddie, eagerly: “the Great Hooge Bear, the Middle Bear, and the Little Small Wee Bear.”
“So!” said Mr. Goodell, seriously.
“And a Beaver, and a Rabbit, and a Guinea-Pig, and a Loon, and a Fox, and a Goose, and a Donkey—” Buddie went on, rapidly enumerating her acquaintances of the day.
The lighted match fell from the land-looker’s hand.
“A donkey!” he repeated. Then he smiled, and struck another match, and for a few moments smoked in silence.
“And we hadsucha good time at the Greenwood Club,” said Buddie. “The Rabbit and the Tortoise ran a race, and we tossed the Weasel in a blanket, and Doctor Goose read a paper and—oh, dear! I can’t begin to think of all the things we did. And, oh yes, we came up to The Well to find out why the Rabbit wabbles his nose. Didn’t we, Colonel?”
The Yellow Dog barked.
“I guess, little girl, you fell asleep and dreamed all this,” remarked the land-looker, eying her curiously.
“No; I didn’t,” declared Buddie, positively. “It wasreally.”
“Well, tell me all about it,” said Mr. Goodell, with another indulgent smile. And Buddie, beginning at the beginning, which is always thebest place to begin, gave him a faithful account of the day’s doings.
The land-looker listened gravely, and when the story was done he rose and swung his pack upon his back.
“I guess there’s room for you to ride,” said he, hoisting Buddie to his shoulder. “We must get home before your folks begin to worry.”
So they set off for home, the Yellow Dog trotting contentedly behind.
“You must sing your song for Mr. Goodell, Colonel!” Buddie called back to him.
But the Yellow Dog only barked. And from that day to this Buddie has never been able to get a word out of him concerning their remarkable adventures.
THE END
THE END
THE END