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                           THE ADVENTURES OF
                              DIGGELDY DAN


[Illustration: “Who—may—you—be?” exclaimed the four in surprise.
FRONTISPIECE. _See page 135._]




                     THE ADVENTURES OF DIGGELDY DAN


                                   BY
                            EDWIN P. NORWOOD

                         WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
                            A. CONWAY PEYTON

[Illustration]

                                 BOSTON
                       LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
                                  1922




                           _Copyright, 1922_,
                     BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.


                         _All rights reserved_

                       Published September, 1922


                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




                                   TO
                              THE HOSFORDS
                                   OF
                              MEADOW HOUSE

------------------------------------------------------------------------




These tales were first told for the Children’s Page of _The Christian
Science Monitor_, and the author takes this means of acknowledging his
appreciation of the arrangement by which he is privileged to republish
them.




                                CONTENTS


 _Chapter_                                                        _Page_

     I In Which Dan Meets the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes      3

    II In Which Dan Hears the Message from Too-Bo-Tan                 12

   III In Which Dan Releases the Animals of Spangleland               18

    IV In Which the Animals Elect Officers                            25

     V In Which Giraffe Gives a Chalk-Talk and the Animals Learn
         a New Game                                                   31

    VI In Which the Animals Send a Message to the Pretty Lady         37

   VII In Which the Animals Meet with a Disappointment and a
         Surprise and a Story is Begun                                43

  VIII In Which the Pretty Lady Continues Her Story                   53

    IX In Which the Pretty Lady Concludes Her Story                   62

     X In Which the Pretty Lady Tells of Mysteries and Spangles       70

    XI In Which the Animals Play at Circus and Dan Promises a
         Story                                                        79

   XII In Which Dan Answers the Beckoning Trees                       88

  XIII In Which Dan Learns of Peanuts and Things                      98

   XIV In Which Dan Parts with Old Friends and Prepares to Claim
         a Reward                                                    108

    XV In Which Dan and Gray Ears Arrive at Their Goal               118

   XVI In Which Dan Joins the Very Biggest Circus                    130

  XVII In Which the Animals Entertain an Unexpected Caller           139

 XVIII In Which the Pretty Lady Carries a Passenger into the Wide
         Wide World                                                  149

   XIX In Which Little Black Bear Spends a Night in the Forest       159

    XX In Which Little Black Bear Meets Shagg, the Carpenter         169

   XXI In Which Little Black Bear Adds Still More to His Story       181

  XXII In Which Dan Meets Beader, of the Jumping Dragoons            192

 XXIII In Which Dan Spends a Night in the Valley of Tick Tock        204

  XXIV In Which Dan is Presented with the Key to the Valley          216

   XXV In Which Dan Hears the Clock Strike One                       227

  XXVI We Say Goodbye to Diggeldy Dan                                239




                             ILLUSTRATIONS


 “‘Who—may—you—be?’ exclaimed the four in surprise”       _Frontispiece_

 In a very twinkling, there appeared the most beautiful
   circus lady one ever laid eyes upon                         _Page_ 10

 Away they all went, down through the line                         „  35

 “Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its
   toes for counters”                                              „  59

 And so this strangest of all circuses began                       „  83

 “Something came from out the air, and swept me square
   off my toes”                                                    „  95

 Little Black Bear gladly did his tricks over and over
   again                                                          „  185

 At the boom of “One” the mice fairly rained into the
   Great Room                                                     „  235




                           THE ADVENTURES OF
                              DIGGELDY DAN




                               CHAPTER I
       IN WHICH DAN MEETS THE PRETTY LADY WITH THE BLUE-BLUE EYES


 Had you tiptoed to the very edge of a certain town, on a certain day
not so very long ago, you would have come upon a great sprawling cluster
of big and little tents. And had you held your breath and walked ever so
quietly, you would finally have reached an open space in the very center
of the bigger tents, where stood a small white tent that seemed far more
interesting than all the rest. Just why it seemed so would have been
hard to tell, unless it was because—though there was not so much as a
thimbleful of wind astir—a certain spot in its canvas wall kept bulging
in and out, after the fashion of a curtain in the breeze. At times, this
spot would settle back into place, only to start jiggling a moment
later, just as though there were some one inside the tent, clutching at
its wall and shaking it, much as a monkey rattles the bars to its cage.

As for the open space between the little white tent and all the bigger
circus tents—for the tents were all a part of Spangleland—there was no
sign of life. True, there were gayly dressed men scattered about here
and there—and women, too. But all were fast asleep. Some lay back in
low, canvas chairs strung in a row in the shadow of the tents. Some,
with their chins propped in their hands, were perched like pigeons on
the tongues of wonderful red and golden wagons; while still others lay
at full length on the cool, green grass. The lap of one was covered by a
newspaper and that of another held an open book, just as if their owners
had grown weary of reading and dozed off to sleep, square in the middle
of a sentence.

So there was no sign of life, except the jiggling of the wall of the
round, white tent that stood in the center of all the bigger tents.

Meantime the day was fast making ready for bed. Indeed, the sun was just
on the point of slipping out of sight behind the very largest of all the
bigger tents when, far off in the sky to the west, there appeared—a tiny
black speck. And at this the wall of the round white tent began to
jiggle more violently than before, while a wee little eye appeared,
peeking through a wee little hole in its wall. And, as the wee eye
watched, the speck grew in size and then began to describe little
curves, as if it were bounding up and down as it came. And, for that
matter, so it was. For the speck was a bird on the wing, and it was
headed straight for the tents of Spangleland. On it came, until it had
reached the very edge of the circus town. And then it began to bound up
and down even more than before, and to circle this way and that, as if
to make sure of some certain thing of which it alone knew the secret.
But it flew more slowly now, so that one might have seen—had any been
there to see—that its color was a wondrous blue and of so gorgeous a hue
that the red and golden wagons—which were just at that moment struck by
the sun’s parting rays—must have felt very much ashamed of themselves.

Finally, as if no longer in doubt, the bird fixed its eyes on the little
white tent, and flew straight to the wee hole in its wall. And, as it
reached the tent, it began to call, in the softest voice imaginable:

                      “O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!
                      O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

While from behind the wall of the round white tent came the merriest of
voices in reply, singing, almost as softly:

                    “Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan;
                    Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

“Then,” said the bird, who had by this time perched itself on the nose
of one of the little round poles that stuck out near the caves of the
round white tent, “come forth at once, sir.”

And at this command the canvas wall of the round white tent was parted
by the very hands of the one who had been jiggling it in his impatience
to put it aside; and, little by little, as if he feared that those who
slept might waken, there appeared the funniest little old man in all the
world.

First came his head, all white and smooth and crowned by a queer round
hat that came to a point at the top. And his ears were white, too, and
so was his face, except for his red, red lips and five curious spots of
red—one on his chin, one on his brow, one on each cheek, and one on the
tip of his long, funny nose. He wore a collar that was all ruffled and
round and a baggy white suit, trimmed with great polka-dot patches, that
might have been likened to very red apples, except for the fact that
half of them were blue.

“Come, come! Make haste there, Dan—if, indeed, you are Diggeldy Dan,”
cried the bird from its perch on the little round pole.

“Quite so, quite so,” chuckled the funny old man. And, suiting himself
to his words, he made a quick skip into the open, danced three steps to
the left and three to the right, and then, doffing his queer, sugar-loaf
hat, made a very grand courtesy in the direction of the bird, saying as
he did so:

“At your service, little messenger.”

“Ah, then you know who I am!” exclaimed the one who had come out of the
west. “But I must be very sure. So tell me, if you can, what rhymes with
this:

                      “O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan.”

“Why,” answered the clown—for you must have guessed that he was a
clown—“Why,” he repeated,

                 “You are the courier from Too-Bo-Tan.”

But though the bird nodded in approval, as if to say, “Yes, yes, that is
correct,” it still seemed reluctant to admit that the man was really
Diggeldy Dan. So it put its head first to one side and then to the
other, and puckered its very blue brows, as if thinking up some further
test. And then it spoke again.

“Diggeldy Dan—if, indeed, you are Diggeldy Dan—who was it told you the
last line of the rhyme?”

“Why,” answered the clown with great readiness, “it was the Pretty Lady
with the Blue-Blue Eyes. She came to me in a dream last night—riding her
White-White Horse through the skies. She wakened me, or at least I
thought she did, by tickling my nose with her slim little whip. She
said: ‘To-morrow, after the circus is over and the great crowd has gone
home to its supper, and after the people of the circus have had their
suppers and are come back to the shady places in and about the big and
little tents, to read and to tell their tales and take their ease, they
will all fall into a very deep sleep—that is, all but Diggeldy Dan.’”

And, at this, the clown paused to take a much-needed breath; for he had
become somewhat excited in telling his story and, to speak the truth,
had quite forgotten to breathe between sentences.

But at a sign from the bird, he went on:

“‘As for you, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,’ continued the Pretty Lady with
the Blue-Blue Eyes, ‘you will not go to sleep. Instead, you are to hide
in the round white tent that stands in the center of all the bigger
tents, and wait for the messenger who will come out of the west.’ And
then she told me the rhyme. ‘For to-morrow,’ she said, ‘you’ll have been
a clown for a hundred years and a day.’ Yes, that was just what she
said: ‘A hundred years and a day.’ And so I have been. But, what of
that, my pretty bird? For see! I still can dance as merrily and as
lightly as any butterfly that flits o’er the fields in the May!”

As if to prove what he had said, the funny old clown tripped off so very
blithely and so very fast that he bumped smack into one of the red and
golden wagons that stood in the lee of the round white tent.

“Ah, ha!” said the bird, half to itself, and hardly seeming to notice
that the bump into the wagon had sent the clown to the grass on his
back, “you will do, Diggeldy Dan; you will do.”

[Illustration: In a very twinkling there appeared the most beautiful
circus lady one ever laid eyes upon. _Page 10._]

And, with that, it flew from its perch at the top of the little round
pole, while in a very twinkling, there appeared the most beautiful
circus lady one ever laid eyes upon—and with her a White-White Horse
right out of the sky. So that, when Dan picked himself up, and, lifting
one foot, was just about to finish his dance, his red-red lips fell very
far apart and his eyes became almost as large as the polka-dot patches
that covered his white, baggy suit. Indeed, he presented so comical an
appearance—standing there with one foot in the air, and I staring his
visitor most out of countenance—that the Lady leaned forward on her
White-White Horse and burst into so merry a laugh that it sounded like
all the silver tinkle bells in the world.

“Why,” exclaimed Dan, when he had finally found his voice and put down
his foot, “you are the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes!”

“Yes, and the blue bird, too; for it was I, all the while. And now,
Diggeldy Dan, if you will be so good as to come with me to the very edge
of Spangleland, I will tell you the message from Too-Bo-Tan.”

And so the Pretty Lady and the White-White Horse, with Dan walking by
their side, passed slowly along between the big and little tents,
speaking not at all, while the clown kept wondering what it was he was
so soon to hear.




                               CHAPTER II
             IN WHICH DAN HEARS THE MESSAGE FROM TOO-BO-TAN


 Now, when the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes had reached the very
outer edge of Spangleland, she brought her White-White Horse to a pause.
And Diggeldy Dan paused, too. There they stood, forming a picture for
all the world like one you must have seen in a story book; only it was
much more wonderful than that could ever be. For no artist could ever
have quite caught the blue in the Lady’s eyes, or the gold that lay in
her hair. For, oddly enough, her yellow curls gleamed, though by this
time the twilight had come and the lights of the night begun to blink
and to wink, away off in the streets of the town. Then the Pretty Lady
began to speak:

“Dan; for now I know you are Diggeldy Dan; what is in this great, white
tent that stands so near where we stand?”

“Why,” answered Dan, “there’s monkeys, and lions, and tigers and things,
and—”

“Quite so,” the Lady broke in. “It, then, is the tent that we want. Now
listen to me with both your funny white ears and with all your two
twinkling eyes. For this is the message from Too-Bo-Tan, to all the
animals of Spangleland: Beginning on the morrow and on every day ever
after, there is to come a wee little hour in the twilight when all the
monkeys, and lions, and tigers, and things are to be let out of their
cages, allowed to dance and to play and do as they will.”

“But, oh, Pretty Lady, that will not do at all,” burst in Diggeldy Dan.
“Their cages are locked, there’s no hour to spare, and—and maybe they’d
eat folks up!”

But for answer the Lady only laughed—the laugh that was so like the
tinkle bells.

“Have no fear, Diggeldy Dan. All that has been thought out by far wiser
heads than yours. You see, it was this way: Ever so long ago,
Too-Bo-Tan—who is the very biggest monkey in all the world—called a
meeting of all the animals in far-away Jungleland. And, when they had
gathered on the highest peak of the mountains, where Too-Bo holds his
wonderful court, Too-Bo rose and made this very solemn speech:

“‘It was, as many of you know, the very dearest wish of my honored
father, Vargu, that the day might come when something could be done to
make easier the lot of our fellow animals who have so nobly sacrificed
their freedom and consented to spend their lives in red and golden
cages, that the children may have their circus days. Of late, I have had
my learned counselors go into this matter very thoroughly, and they have
found, but yesterday, written on the face of a great stone in the depths
of a certain cave in a certain mountain, this remarkable decree:

“‘“On the day when Diggeldy Dan has been a clown for a hundred years and
a day, as a reward for the great joy that he has given little children
through all his merry life, he will be granted the privilege of
releasing all animals from their cages at every setting of the sun.”

“‘And so,’ continued Too-Bo-Tan, looking out from under his bushy
eyebrows, ‘this meeting of all the animals has been called that we may
discover just who this Diggeldy Dan may be, where he is, and, most
important of all, whether he has yet been a clown for a hundred years
and a day.’”

“But,” interrupted Dan, as the Pretty Lady reached this point in her
story, “I’ve been right here with the circus for ever and ever and ever
so long.”

“Of course, you have,” agreed the Lady, “but, you see, Too-Bo-Tan had
been so busy with other matters that he didn’t know that you had. But I
knew. For I am the Fairy of the Circus—the one who watches over all the
riders and all the clowns and all the people of the big and little
tents—the one who knows just what each one of them does every single
day. And so, when Too-Bo had finished speaking, I jumped to my feet and
said that I could find you in no time at all. Then we waited until the
hour should come when you had been a clown for a hundred years and a
day. And, when it came, I at once called for my White-White Horse and,
as you know, came to you through the skies as you slept.

“And now, for the hour grows late and you will soon be needed in the
very biggest tent, to laugh and to dance and play all your pranks, let
us be quick. To-morrow, at half-past twilight—”

“When—when do you say?” puzzled Dan.

“At half-past twilight,” repeated the Lady. “Which reminds me that I
have a watch for you that you may be very sure of the hour—a very
precious watch, fashioned from the petals of a great white flower, that
never blossoms, except when the twilight comes and then only for a wee,
short hour.”

Even as she spoke, the Pretty Lady tugged at a silver thread that lay in
the maze of the mane of her White-White Horse. And presently there
appeared, from the opposite side of her snowy mount, the
queerest-looking watch that ever told time. It was as round as a
pancake, but not one-quarter as thick—indeed, it seemed to have no
thickness at all.

“This,” said the Lady, as she unhooked the thread, “is the Petal Watch.
You are to keep it tucked away in the peak of your round, funny hat. And
each evening, just at half-past twilight, it will open and put forth its
petals, and then you will know it is time to let loose the monkeys, and
tigers, and lions, and things.”

And as Dan, taking the watch, knelt down to fold it away in the crown of
his hat, there came a great burst of music from the very biggest of all
the bigger tents. At the sound of it the White-White Horse began to
prance and then—the Pretty Lady’s curls set flying by the speed of his
gallop—was off through the night to the west.

For a moment Diggeldy Dan made as if to follow. Then he turned, and
holding his hat very tightly, as if fearing he might lose the watch that
was to be so useful on the morrow, he skipped away toward the great tent
from whence the music came, singing as he ran.




                              CHAPTER III
            IN WHICH DAN RELEASES THE ANIMALS OF SPANGLELAND


 As the sun sank to rest behind the tents of Spangleland, on the day
following the visit of the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes, it
paused for a moment—as the sun sometimes will—and shot one last, long,
lingering beam toward the little white tent which, as you will remember,
played a part in the beginning of this tale. Had you been near at the
time—and possessed some knack at riding sun beams—you might have mounted
this one and ridden straight through the wee open place that served as a
peep-hole for the wee little eye when the blue bird was first seen in
the west. For it was through this tiny chink that the sunbeam passed
and, having gained entrance, landed plump on the nose of Diggeldy Dan.

Indeed, it came so suddenly that the clown—who sat hunched over on the
top of a gayly painted box, lost in deep thought—mistook it for a bright
yellow bee and tried to brush it aside. And then he saw his mistake and,
sitting up very straight, glanced upward to the hole in the wall.

“Oho! Little sunbeam; so you’ve come to remind me!” he cried. “Yes, yes.
Now I will put on my hat and wait for the Petal Watch to tell me the
time.”

As he did so he noticed that—just as before—all those who were near him
were quite fast asleep. And, looking up and then down the inside of the
tent, at all the many clowns that had been packed off to Slumberland,
and all the queer, colored thingamajigs and all the odd do-dads that
clowns always keep near, he waited for a sign from the watch. He did not
wait long, for soon he felt something tickling the top of his smooth
white head and, removing his hat ever so carefully, there he saw—exactly
as the Pretty Lady had promised—the unfolding petals of a wonderful
flower.

“Surely, now,” reasoned Dan, “it must be half-past twilight.”

So, slipping down from the box, he tiptoed in and out through the
sleeping forms, passed to the open space between the little white tent
and all the bigger tents, picked his way among the gayly dressed men and
the women who drowsed in the chairs or lay stretched on the grass and,
once clear of them, skipped away as fast as ever his two legs would
carry him in the direction of the great tent where lived the monkeys,
and tigers, and lions, and things. Reaching its entrance, he spied all
the keepers leaning against the poles of the tent. But they, too, were
asleep—their chins buried deep on their breasts. Then he advanced to the
very center of the vast circle, formed by all the red and golden cages.
And, at sight of this funny old clown in the polka-dot suit, there went
up such a cry from the animals that, for the moment, Diggeldy Dan was
tempted to skip away even faster than he had come. For never had he
heard any such shout, which—but for the fact that the people of the
circus were in a very deep sleep—must have wakened every one of them.
But the keepers slept on, and soon Dan came to realize that the voices
were joining in a sort of chant. Putting his head to one side he
listened ever so intently; and then a great smile broke over his face.
For gradually the chant took form. Yes, it was quite distinct now. The
animals were shouting, in almost as many keys as there were voices:

                        “Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
                        Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan.”

And, looking about from cage to cage, Dan saw that all of the animals
were standing, their eyes shining, their faces flushed, their mouths
working gleefully in the song that sang his name. Then, almost as
quickly as it had begun, the chant ended and all was as quiet as the
hush of the twilight.

“Well, well,” began Dan, making four separate bows—one to the north, one
to the east, one to the south, and the last to the west—“you seem to
know who I am!”

“Of course we do,” answered the mighty chorus. “You’re Dan, Dan,
Diggeldy, Dan. We’ve been expecting you the whole day.”

“And who, if I may make bold to ask, told you to expect me?”

“Why,” came the shout, “it was a little bird. A bird—”

“Never mind the rest,” interrupted Dan. “I might have guessed, without
asking. It was the blue bird, of course. So we’ll lose no time in
retelling old stories, but get down to business at once.”

And—that he might not be accused of playing favorites, in so far as
which animal should be the first to be let out of its cage—the old clown
put his feet together, raised himself to the very tips of his toes, shut
his eyes very tightly, spun around exactly seven times and then—with his
eyes still closed—followed the end of his long, funny nose, until it had
brought him to the door of that cage which was nearest it. And, opening
the door and his eyes at the very same moment, Diggeldy Dan came face to
face with—Lion.

“Lion,” said Dan, as he took one of the big fellow’s paws in both his
hands, “I am sure that this nose of mine showed extremely good sense in
leading me first of all to your door. And now we will take the cages as
they come.”

So Dan, accompanied by Lion, went to the gilded home of Tiger; then the
three of them passed on to that occupied by Leopard—and so, on around
the great circle, until every single one of the animals had been loosed
from its cage. With Dan in the lead, they formed a long, winding line
and then—the serpentine entirely complete—moved forward, for all the
world like a troupe of children playing at lock step. Round and round
they marched, swaying from side to side and singing at the very tops of
their voices, with Dan tossing his head from right to left, like the
drum-major in a band, and holding out the sides of his baggy white
trousers, just as clowns ofttimes do at the circus.

But after the strange procession had paraded three times around the
circle, Dan signaled a halt.

“No! No! Let’s do it some more,” pleaded all the animals. And, though he
was somewhat out of breath, Dan gave consent and off they all pranced
again, making more of a din than before. But, at the farther end of the
great tent, the old clown clapped his hands and the long line stopped in
its tracks. And doffing his round, funny hat, Dan saw that the Petal
Watch was all but closed.

“Quick! Quick! There! Into your cages or we’ll all be caught!” he cried.
“Monkey, you will go in last and, meantime, help me close all the
doors.”

And, with Dan scurrying about and Monkey running so very fast that he
fastened two doors to the old clown’s one, the task was completed in no
time at all.

“Now,” said Dan, after Monkey had been tucked away, “I’ll say good-by
till to-morrow. And then, at half-past twilight, I’ll come again and
we’ll hold a great meeting and lay all manner of plans. In the meantime,
remember, not a word to a soul.”

“Not a word to a soul,” echoed the animals in chorus.

So, swinging his hat as he went, Diggeldy Dan danced down the length of
the menagerie tent and then, stopping at the end of it to give a last
wave to his friends, disappeared in the depths of the dusk.




                               CHAPTER IV
                  IN WHICH THE ANIMALS ELECT OFFICERS


 On as fine an evening as one might wish for and at exactly seven
minutes past half-past twilight by the Petal Watch, Diggeldy Dan stood
in the very center of the great menagerie tent, while before him were
grouped all the animals of Spangleland.

Coming from their cages and from out their corrals or, like Elephant,
Zebra, and Camel, being unhooked from their chains by Monkey and Dan,
they had arranged themselves much as one sees them pictured in great
atlases or on gayly colored posters, but never, strangely enough, at the
circus itself.

In the front row sat Puma, Monkey, Seal, Leopard, Hyena, and Little
Black Bear, and all their families. Next in order came Lion, Tiger,
Ostrich, Great White Bear, Deer, Emu, Kangaroo, and their families;
while, ranged behind these were Elephant, Camel, Hippo, Zebra, and
Rhino, and their different cousins and aunts, with Giraffe and his folks
still back of them.

There they sat, chattering and laughing and making quite as much of a
clatter as people do at the theater, just before the curtain goes up.

“Now,” began Dan, pulling his hands from his pockets and clapping them
together for silence, “it seems to me the first thing to do is to get
ourselves organized.”

“Yes, yes, that is it,” answered the merry crew. “Let’s do that very
thing!”

“We should begin, then,” continued Dan, “by choosing a chairman. Who,
say you, shall it be?”

At this all the animals began to talk at once; but, as it was Tiger who
seemed to be making the most noise, Dan said he should be the first to
speak.

“Diggeldy Dan and fellow animals,” said Tiger, as he gravely stroked his
chin with a huge paw, “I rise to name one who, because of the very place
that he has long held among us, is especially suited to the office of
chairman. One who, because of his great strength, his fairness, and
kindly disposition, has long been known as ‘the King of Beasts.’ The one
who—as you will remember—was the very first to be loosed from his cage.
I, of course, am speaking of—Lion.”

“Hear! Hear!” came from all sides. “Lion, of course! Who else but Lion!”

“Let’s make the choice unanimous,” cried Rhino. And so, somewhat
flustered, but by no means lacking in dignity, and escorted by Great
White Bear and Little Black Bear, Lion came forward to accept the office
to which he had been elected.

“My fellow animals,” he said, “realizing that there is still much to be
done, I will be brief. First, let me thank you for the honor you have
bestowed upon me and to assure you that I will do my best to serve you.
While appreciating Tiger’s kindness in suggesting me for chairman, I
cannot but feel that I should differ with him on one point—that is, with
reference to the title ‘the King of Beasts.’ That is all very well in
Jungleland, perhaps, but here in this great land of the free—with even
ourselves set at liberty—I feel that the word ‘king’ should be replaced
by ‘president.’ I believe that—”

But here cries of, “That’s right—Why, of course—President of Beasts!”
and the like broke in upon the speaker, and the point was carried, even
before Lion had finished his argument.

“Now, then, Mr. King—I mean Mr. President,” said Hippo, who had been
holding a quiet consultation with the animals nearest him, “it would
seem to me that we should elect a secretary before we go any further, so
that an exact record may be kept of these meetings and, in due time,
sent on to our good friend, Too-Bo-Tan.”

“A very commendable thought, indeed,” assented Lion. “Nominations are,
therefore, in order for secretary.”

And, at this, the several animals who had had their heads together with
Hippo all jumped to their feet and began to chant:

                        “Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
                        Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”

“Why, of course,” agreed all the rest. “Who else but Diggeldy Dan!”

“I’ll furnish a quill for the pen,” said Ostrich.

“I know where there’s an old circus poster with nothing at all on the
back,” cried Elephant, as he made off toward the end of the tent.

“I’ll offer myself for a table,” volunteered Hippo.

“And I’ll supply the ink,” said Dan, diving into one of his funny deep
pockets and drawing forth a top, some chalk, three marbles, and—last of
all—a bottle of very red ink.

And so, almost before one might have said Jack Robinson, there sat
Diggeldy Dan astride Hippo’s back with the poster that Elephant had
brought spread out before him, the quill that Ostrich had furnished
grasped firmly in his hand, writing away for all he was worth, while all
the animals crowded around, all talking at once and each trying to
remember just exactly what Tiger had said when he had nominated Lion and
just what Lion had said when he spoke in reply.

Of course, all this took some little time and, indeed, Dan concluded the
first chapter of the interesting document with one eye to his work and
the other on the Petal Watch. And, just as he had crossed the very last
“t” and dotted the very last “i” the great white flower began to close.
At the first sign of it, away scampered all the animals to their cages
and corrals while Dan, with the aid of Monkey, having locked all the
doors and fastened each chain, scurried off to make ready for the
circus, folding the precious poster and tucking it away with the Petal
Watch as he ran.

“To-morrow at half-past twilight,” he cried in farewell.

“To-morrow,” answered Lion, from the depths of his cage,
while from all parts of the tent came the voices that
echoed—“To-morrow—to-morrow—to-morrow.”




                               CHAPTER V
  IN WHICH GIRAFFE GIVES A CHALK-TALK AND THE ANIMALS LEARN A NEW GAME


 Now when the fourth day had turned to twilight and the animals of
Spangleland had gathered to continue the meeting that had resulted in
the election of Lion as President of Animals and Diggeldy Dan as
Secretary, Zebra announced that he had a matter of much importance to
bring to their attention.

“It has to do with Giraffe and his folks,” began Zebra, as he bobbed his
head and flopped his long, striped ears in the direction of those to
whom he referred. “As all of us are aware, neither Giraffe nor any of
his ancestors have ever been known to speak. When we consider the great
amount of talking many of us ofttimes do without really saying much, I
am sometimes of the opinion that our big-eyed brothers show no little
wisdom by preserving strict silence. Still I feel that Giraffe and his
family should have a voice in our different discussions, if they so
desire, and think it only fair that they be consulted as to their
wishes.”

While Zebra had been speaking, it was noticed that Giraffe had been all
attention and, when Lion from his place in front of all the animals,
asked him if he had anything to say, he nodded most positively.

“Very well, then, Giraffe; we will, indeed, be glad to hear from you,”
said Lion, as he crossed his paws and leaned back in an attitude of
strict attention.

By this time, all the eyes of all the animals were on Giraffe. And so
were those of Diggeldy Dan, who sat astride Hippo, the circus poster
spread out before him, his pen poised in mid-air, ready to jot down any
and all things that might come to pass.

And, as they watched, Giraffe unfolded his long, lanky legs and, for all
the world like two boys on two pairs of tall stilts, made his way from
the rear of the group and walked around to the side of Diggeldy Dan.
Then, bending his mile-long neck, he thrust his nose into the depths of
Dan’s pocket.

“Here, here!” cried the clown, “there are no carrots there!”

“Silence, Dan!” commanded Lion.

Even at this moment, Giraffe removed his nose and there, in the tips of
his lips, was the top which, as you may remember, the clown had drawn
out when he brought forth the bottle of very red ink. Down went the top
on the broad back of Hippo and back went Giraffe’s nose in the pocket of
Dan. And, this time, the searcher’s ears began to wiggle with delight
and his eyes to twinkle with glee. For when his nose next came forth
there, held tight in his mouth, was a piece of bright yellow chalk.

At sight of it a puzzled look crossed the faces of all those who
watched. It was Lion who first caught the thought.

“Why, of course!” he exclaimed, with a wise nod of his head. “Giraffe
proposes to talk with the chalk.”

“With the chalk, to be sure,” agreed Puma, “and I know where there’s a
board. The inner side of the strips that close up my cage are all
painted black. Come on, Elephant, and we’ll get one right now.”

So away the two of them went, and soon Elephant was holding the board
high up in his trunk. And, as he held it in place, Giraffe wrote with
the chalk:

“Very thoughtful of you—Thanks—Heartily agree with all done thus
far—Giraffe.”

And, putting the chalk alongside the top, he made a low swinging bow
with his long spotted neck and hurried off to his place at the rear of
the group, amid the shouts and the cheers of his fellows.

While the animals were cheering or telling one another just what each
had been thinking when Giraffe was rummaging Dan’s pocket, the old
clown’s pen was going “scratch, scratch, scratch” back and forth across
the poster.

“And now, Mr. President,” said Dan, as he finished writing and folded up
the great sheet of paper, “I suggest that we forget business for a time
and engage in a game that I have in mind.”

[Illustration: Away they all went, down through the line. _Page 35._]

“A fine idea,” agreed Lion as, indeed, did all the rest in one voice;
that is, all but Giraffe and his folks. They nodded their approval.

“It’s a game called ‘London Bridge is Falling Down,’” went on Dan. “It
was Giraffe’s long neck and Elephant’s trunk that suggested the thought.
So now, suppose we begin.”

“Yes, let’s begin,” cried the animals, as they trooped into the circle
that ran in front of all the red and gold cages.

“First,” called Dan, “you, Giraffe, and your folks will stand opposite
one another, with your noses touching. There! That’s the way. Now,
Elephant, you and your family will do the same, only raise your trunks
very high and hold them together at the tips—just as if you were shaking
hands way up in the air. That’s it. Fine! Now all the rest of us will go
skipping down the aisle between you.”

So Dan, taking the lead and calling, “Come on, Tiger! Come on, Lion! Hi
there, Hippo,” away they all went, down through the line.

“Now, back again!” shouted Dan, “and this is the song that we’ll sing as
we go:

                    “London Bridge is falling down,
                    Falling down, falling down,
                    London Bridge is falling down,
                    Down, down, down!”

“Say! Hold on a minute!” cried Hippo. “I’m too wide! I can’t get
through!”

“I’ll fix that,” shouted Elephant. “Up, now!” he commanded. And at the
words, all of Elephant’s folks stood up on their hind legs and Hippo
passed through without any trouble at all. So the game went on, with all
the animals vowing that they never had had quite so much fun before in
all their lives.

But, by this time, the Petal Watch had begun to close; and, at a word
from Dan and the promise that he would see them again at half-past
twilight on the morrow, the merry band went back to their places. As the
old clown passed out of the menagerie tent, he could still hear the
voices in the distance, humming the song,

                    “London Bridge is falling down,
                    Down, down, down!”




                               CHAPTER VI
         IN WHICH THE ANIMALS SEND A MESSAGE TO THE PRETTY LADY


 “And that,” finished Diggeldy Dan, “is the story of the Pretty Lady
with the Blue-Blue Eyes.”

It was on the fifth day after she of whom Dan spoke had brought him the
message from Too-Bo-Tan and, with all the animals of Spangleland
gathered about him, the old clown had been telling them of her and the
blue bird.

“Yes,” nodded Camel, “she is the Fairy of the Circus. I have heard my
father describe her.”

“But I like the other name best,” spoke up Seal. “‘The Pretty Lady with
the Blue-Blue Eyes!’ When my family and I go into the great white tent
to perform, we often catch a glimpse of the riders as they pass on their
way from the rings. They are much like that—all pretty ladies with
mounts like the White-White Horse.”

“I wish we could see her,” mused Leopard.

“Let’s send her a message,” suggested Ostrich.

“But how?” queried Kangaroo. “We’ve no one to send and, even if we had,
where in the world should we send him?”

“Diggeldy Dan,” said Lion, “what have you to suggest?”

“Well,” answered Dan, “I know this much: and that is that the Pretty
Lady went away toward the west. I like to believe that she makes her
home in the sunset.”

“Why, if that’s the case, then that’s not far from here,” broke in
Elephant.

Even while Elephant was speaking, Giraffe came forward and picked up the
chalk. Then, striding to the side of a cage, he scrawled on its face:

“Not far at all—looking through eaves space in tent—this very
evening—saw sun set just back of hill—’bout a mile from here—Giraffe.”

“Not more than a mile!” cried Tiger, “Only a mile!” Then he paused and
looked rather foolish. For how were they to reach over even a mile.

“I know, I know, I know!” shouted Monkey, dancing up and down.
“Balloons, balloons, balloons! That’s the way! That’s the—”

“Hold on there, Monkey,” interrupted Lion. “Not so fast and, for
goodness’ sake, don’t get so excited. Besides, I, for one, know of no
balloons in this vicinity.”

“No, no, I don’t mean truly big balloons,” explained Monkey. “Wait a
minute and I’ll show you!” And away he dashed down the menagerie tent
and was back in a twinkling, waving a great cluster of toy balloons over
his head.

“Monkey,” admitted Lion, as he took the balloons, “I must confess that
your head is ofttimes much longer than mine. Of course, you mean—”

“To write our message, tie it to the balloons and get the east wind to
carry it over the hill to the place where Giraffe saw the sun go down,”
finished Monkey.

And then the excitement that followed! The writing of the message fell
to Diggeldy Dan and, after no end of changes—all, of course, for the
better—there appeared these words written on a corner that had been torn
from the great circus poster:

  “Dear Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes,
  At Sunset House, just over the hill:

  “We all want you to visit us. We all promise to be very quiet.

  “Please come at half-past twilight, to-morrow.

                                     (Signed) “Animals of Spangleland,
                                     “By: Diggeldy Dan, Secretary.

  “P. S.—Please bring back the balloons, because they are just
  borrowed.

  “P. S.—The White-White Horse is invited, too.”

The message completed, Diggeldy Dan produced a piece of string from one
of his wonderful pockets and, aided by Monkey, tied all the sticks of
all the balloons tightly together and then fastened the letter to the
tip of the sticks.

“Now, then,” said Lion, “we are ready to let loose the balloons. You,
Elephant, take hold of the sticks with your trunk. You, Puma, will leap
to the top of your cage and hold open the eaves of the tent with your
paws so that Elephant can thrust the balloons through the space and hand
them to the wind as it comes out of the east.”

“I can make out the curve of a hill to the west,” called Puma, who had
jumped from the ground to the roof of the cage. “Only I can’t get quite
high enough to see over the top.”

“I’ll be the lookout,” cried Monkey, “that is, if Giraffe will lend me
his head and step over near the eaves of the tent.” And, as Giraffe
nodded assent, up the long neck he scampered and was soon perched aloft,
holding tight with both hands to Giraffe’s pointed ears.

“All right, up there?” called Lion from below.

“All ready,” answered Monkey, “and here comes the east wind around the
side of the tent.”

“Cast off, then, Elephant,” commanded Lion. “Let go the balloons!”

At the very same moment, Elephant gave a great “swish” with his trunk
and away went the balloons through the space at the eaves.

“There they go!” shouted Monkey. “Up, up, up! Goodness, how they’re
sailing! Oh! they’ve caught in a tree! No, they haven’t! Now the east
wind has them again! Once more they’re off! They’re going higher and
higher! And they’re bound straight for the hill! Yes, straight for the
brow of the hill!”

And so, from his perch, Monkey described every inch of the flight until,
to the great relief of the animals who were grouped down below, he
announced that the balloons had passed over the hill.

Indeed the word came in good time, for just then there followed a quick
shout from Dan, crying, “Get back to your places as fast as you can!”

Then came a wild scurrying to right and to left.

“Now, I’ll bid you good night,” said Diggeldy Dan, when the very last
door had been locked. “And to-morrow we’ll learn if we were right when
we guessed that the one we have written makes her home in the west.”




                              CHAPTER VII
  IN WHICH THE ANIMALS MEET WITH A DISAPPOINTMENT AND A SURPRISE AND A
                             STORY IS BEGUN


 Now, had the keepers who slept so soundly at the foot of the big blue
poles in the great menagerie tent suddenly wakened at a little after
half-past twilight on the evening following that which saw the balloons
go sailing over the hill, they no doubt would have rubbed their eyes,
pinched themselves and then exclaimed:

“Well, of all things! Wherever can those animals be?”

But, of course, they did nothing of the kind, for the very good reason
that not a single one of them so much as opened one eye. Though, if they
had, where do you suppose they would have found all their charges? Away
over behind the red and gold cages.

Yes, there they stood, side by side in a row, their noses pressed close
against the west wall of the tent, looking for all the world like so
many “catchers” in a game of hide-and-go-seek. And Diggeldy Dan was
there, too. All had found peep-holes in the canvas and through these
they peered eagerly in the direction of Sunset House. They were watching
for the Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

“Every one to his place,” Lion had commanded, when the merry crew had
been loosed, but a few moments before. “And then we will see who will be
the first to catch a glimpse of the one who will ride out of the west.
Not a word from a soul, until she comes into view.”

At first it was fun, but, as the minutes dragged by and no movement was
seen, the watchers began to grow restless. Seal started to twist and to
turn. Next, Puma’s tail was seen to curl and to wave; while Zebra
switched his with quick little jerks. Then Hippo heaved a great sigh
that must surely have been heard a whole mile away. Finally, Monkey, who
was never known to keep entirely quiet, could stand it no longer.

“Lion,” he whispered.

No answer.

“Lion,” repeated Monkey.

“Well, what is it?” answered Lion at last, from his place near the
middle of the line.

“I—I don’t want to watch any longer.”

“Have patience and be quiet, sir,” ordered Lion.

So the watch went on. A minute passed, and another, and another. Then
something went, “Bang!”

“What was that?” demanded Lion.

“I—I was standing on my tail and—and went to sleep,” answered Kangaroo,
in a very sheepish voice. “I—I fell down and bumped my head against
Rhino’s cage.”

“And it was newly varnished but yesterday,” muttered Rhino.

Then Monkey giggled and that set Hyena to laughing until the tears
rolled down his cheeks. Even Lion was obliged to smile though, a moment
later, his face took on a very serious look.

“Perhaps we have waited long enough,” he admitted, rather sadly. “I fear
something must have happened. What do you think, Diggeldy Dan?”

“I don’t know just what to say, Lion,” answered Dan. “You see, I was
quite sure the Pretty Lady made her home in the west. It is all my
fault. I am very sorry.”

“There, there,” said Lion, as he placed a paw on the old clown’s
shoulder. “Surely, none of us would think of blaming you, Dan.”

“So come,” he called out to the rest, “let us go to the center of the
tent; for we will watch no longer to-day.”

Once they knew they might leave their places, the animals were less
eager to do so. For they suddenly realized how disappointed they were
now that they were not to see the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

“Now,” began Lion, after all had been seated, and doing his best to
speak gayly, “I suggest that we—”

But what it was Lion had in mind no one ever came to know; for, just at
that moment, he was interrupted by a pattering shower of silvery rain!
The shimmering flecks fell everywhere, round the animals, on their heads
and on their backs.

“What in the world is this?” exclaimed Lion.

“Why, they’re spangles!” cried Elephant, who had picked up some of the
bits with the tip of his trunk.

“Spangles, sure enough,” agreed Diggeldy Dan, “though I never saw any as
bright nor have I ever known spangles to come out of the sky.”

“But they can’t have come from the sky,” reasoned Tiger; “for how could
they have passed through the roof of the tent?”

Then, as if to prove Tiger wrong, there came a second and even greater
shower than before. This time there were so many spangles that they
fairly tinkled as they fell, while mingling with their tinkling was a
rippling laugh that sounded like silver bells played all in a row. And,
of all marvelous things, the voice came from the depths of the great red
and golden home that belonged to Giraffe!

Instantly, all eyes were turned toward the house on the wheels. At the
very same moment its doors swung apart and there, framed by the opening,
stood the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes!

Even as the animals stared in open-mouthed wonder, their golden-haired
visitor threw back her head and laughed until from her eyes came tears,
as glistening as the spangles that dotted the ground. Then she stopped
quite as suddenly as she had begun, and, putting her left foot behind
her and the tip of one finger to the tip of her chin, made so graceful a
courtesy that all the animals found themselves trying to do the very
same thing, though it must be confessed that some of them made a rather
awkward job of it.

As for Diggeldy Dan, he made the very grandest bow that any clown ever
made, while, taking his cue from Dan, Lion put one paw to his heart and
said in very solemn tones:

“Dear Lady, we one and all bid you welcome, though how you got here we
are at an entire loss to know.”

“Why,” answered the Pretty Lady, as she tripped from the doorway to
where Lion stood, “I came in under the wall near the end. I went right
past your nose, Kangaroo; in fact, I think you were napping.”

And, at that, you may be sure a certain animal looked very foolish.

“Then,” she continued, “I hid in Giraffe’s house and, after you were
seated, began tossing spangles through the window near the top. You see
I always carry a bag of them that I may sprinkle the sunset whenever I
pass.”

“So you do live at Sunset House,” said Diggeldy Dan.

“Just over the hill, where the sky turns to pink. The balloons and the
message came in through my window last night.”

“Goodness! You didn’t forget to bring them back, did you?”

“Monkey!” cried Lion reprovingly, for you might have guessed who had
spoken.

But the Lady only laughed at the question.

“Indeed, I did not,” she replied; and with that she gave three quick
claps with her hands, while from somewhere in galloped the White-White
Horse. And there, clasped to a buckle of his snowy trappings, were the
balloons that had gone over the hill. Soon they were taken to where
Monkey had found them; but, alas, the next moment the Lady had leaped to
her place and was gone down the tent like a shot!

“No, no!” cried all the animals. “Please, please don’t go away.”

“Oh, please don’t,” wailed Monkey. “I didn’t mean to be rude when I
asked about the balloons.”

“I’m not going away,” the Lady laughed back. “I’m just combing my hair,
and the mane and the tail of my White-White Horse.”

And around the great circle the two of them sped; then stopped in front
of the animals again.

“You see,” said the Lady, as she tossed back her curls, “combs and
brushes are so much bother that we never carry them, but just let the
rush of the wind take their place. But now that is done, pray tell me
why you sent for me and what I’m to do?”

“Tell us a story,” cried Ostrich.

“About Too-Bo-Tan,” suggested Little Black Bear.

“Yes, yes!” chimed all the rest, “about Too-Bo-Tan.”

“Very well,” nodded the Lady; and, leaning forward on the back of the
White-White Horse, with her chin cupped in one hand, she began:

“Many years ago—so very many that there are not enough stripes on
Zebra’s sides, nor yet on his ears, to count them—there lived in
far-away Jungleland a very wise monkey, named Vargu. In those days the
different animals mingled not at all, each being content to keep solely
to the company of his very own kind. Now, one day, this monkey named
Vargu was seated in the fork of a tree, quite lost in deep thought, when
a leopard trotted by underneath. Spying the leopard—”

“Pretty Lady, Pretty Lady,” Diggeldy Dan interrupted.

“Dan!” cried Lion.

“But the Watch, the Petal Watch—it’s closing!” answered the clown in
despair.

“Goodness, so it is,” echoed the Lady. “But you shall not miss the
story, for I will come again on the morrow. With the twilight I’ll
come—until then fare you well.”

And with that she was gone like a flash through the dusk, while the
animals all hurried back to their places, each wondering what it was
they were to hear the next day of the very wise monkey named Vargu.




                              CHAPTER VIII
              IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CONTINUES HER STORY


 Hidden away in the folds of that mantle called twilight which, as every
one knows, is laid over the earth with every setting of the sun, is a
wee little hour that is fairly made for the telling of stories. And to
those of Spangleland who know how to find it—though none save they who
possess the Petal Watch will ever learn how—there is a very minute which
marks the beginning of half-past twilight. And that is the best time of
all.

With its coming the blue of the tent-poles seems to grow a shade softer
and the great, rope-fretted roof and the lazy, breeze-wafted walls melt
from white into gray. It is then that the red and gold cages slyly gleam
from their places in the circle they form, and, most wonderful of all,
then that every door opens, thanks to good Too-Bo-Tan.

And on this particular evening of which you are to hear, you may be sure
that the funny old clown in the polka-dot suit—that’s Diggeldy Dan—and
the chattering brown fellow with the twinkling brown eyes—Monkey, of
course—had loosed all the animals much faster than ever before. The
reason? You’ve guessed it—the promised story from the Pretty Lady with
the Blue-Blue Eyes.

Hardly had the animals taken their places, when there came the sound of
hoof-beats mingling with the laugh that was so like to tinkle bells, and
into the circle galloped the White-White Horse, bearing the one for whom
they all waited.

“A merry twilight!” she cried, as the two came to a stop in front of the
group.

“A merry twilight to you,” answered Lion; and then all the rest added
their voices in greeting while Dan, skipping to the side of the
White-White Horse, offered his round, pointed hat as a cup to receive
the Pretty Lady’s foot that he might assist her to alight. This she
accepted as quick as a wink and, tossing her slim, little whip and the
bag with the spangles to the broad back of Hippo, made a quick little
run and a quick little bound, twitched her toe-tips together just as
riders always do at the circus, and then ran straight to the seat in the
midst of the animals.

“Now,” said she, “if you will pay the strictest attention, I’ll go on
with the story. But, first, who will tell me just how it began?”

At this all the animals talked at one time and there arose such a din
that the Pretty Lady put her two hands to her ears in direst despair.

“Order! Order!” shouted Lion. “Gracious, what a racket! Giraffe, since
you were the only one who remained silent, you may tell us the first
part of the tale.”

So Giraffe took the chalk and, going to the side of his house, wrote
these words:

“Many years ago—that time animals mixed with own folks only—wise
monkey—Vargu by name—thinking—in tree—Leopard passes underneath—Signed:
Giraffe.”

“Exactly,” cried the Lady. “You see, the very wise monkey named Vargu
had been sitting there wondering why it was that the different kinds of
animals could not be more sociable. So, when the leopard came in sight,
what do you suppose Vargu did? A most unheard of and a most daring
thing—he spoke to him! Now at first the leopard, whose name was Soft
Foot, could not believe his ears, so he kept straight on his way. But
Vargu was determined. He spoke once again. And with that, the leopard
stopped full in his tracks and gazed at the monkey in utter amazement.

“‘Why, What does this mean!’ he called up to the other. ‘You cannot
speak to me. You are a monkey.’

“‘Ah,’ answered Vargu, ‘but I can speak to you even if I am a monkey.
And, if you don’t believe it, just listen to this: Hello, Mister
Leopard! Hello! Hello! Hello!’ And, with that, he went scampering to the
very top of the tree.

“For a moment Soft Foot made as if to spring into the tree. But he
finally contented himself with blinking his eyes in a dazed sort of way,
and then making off through the maze of the grass, shaking his head as
he went. Yet, try as he would, he could not forget what had happened. He
thought of it as he was going to sleep and he thought of it when he
wakened. Then curiosity got the better of him and the next afternoon
found him trotting along beneath the very same tree. And there, as
before, sat the monkey called Vargu.

“‘Hi there, Mister Leopard; glad to see you again,’ shouted the monkey
from his place up above. ‘Better stop and visit a while. I know a mighty
fine story.’

“‘I don’t want to hear it,’ snarled Soft Foot. ‘Besides, as I warned you
yesterday, leopards and monkeys can’t speak to one another. Leopards
talk to leopards and that’s enough.’ And away he went through the grass.

“Now, that very same night, when all the leopards were gathered
together, Great Spot, the biggest of them all, began to tell one of his
stories. Some of the baby leopards were interested, but as for Soft
Foot, he had heard the tale so many times that he knew it by heart. So,
putting his nose between his paws, he lay with his thoughts far away. He
was thinking of the monkey who lived in the tree. ‘He wanted to tell me
a story,’ mused Soft Foot. ‘I wonder what it was about.’

“And so, though leopards never, never had anything to do with any
animals except their very own kind, it somehow happened that the
following evening found Soft Foot trotting along under the same tree
again.

“There sat the monkey but, to Soft Foot’s surprise, he spoke not a word.
So the leopard moved on to the deep grass beyond. But, after a moment,
he walked back again. And still the monkey uttered never a sound. For a
third time he passed and then Soft Foot could stand the silence no
longer.

“‘Well,’ he blurted, ‘aren’t you going to say anything?’

[Illustration: “Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its
toes for counters.” _Page 59._]

“Now, at this precise moment the monkey called Vargu did a far more
daring thing than he had done when he first spoke to Soft Foot. He made
a great swing from the branch where he sat and landed plump under his
visitor’s nose! With a start of surprise, the leopard crouched back and
for a moment he made as if he were going to leap off through the grass.
Had he done so, I’m sure I don’t know what might have come of this tale.
Indeed, I’m afraid there might have been none to tell. For who knows but
what, failing at this very time, Vargu might never have accomplished his
plan. But, without so much as moving one inch from the point he had
reached on the ground when he swung, he calmly sat down and at once
began to count on his toes.

“‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven’ (long breath) ‘eight, nine,
ten—Dear me! I wonder if I’m going to have enough,’ exclaimed he to
himself, just as if there wasn’t another animal for miles and miles
around. Then he picked up his left foot and began to use its toes for
counters all over again.

“By this time Soft Foot had quite swallowed his snarl and, if he had
been a house-cat instead of a leopard, there is no telling what might
have happened to him. For he was simply overcome with curiosity.

“‘Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen,’ continued Vargu.

“‘For goodness’ sake, fourteen what!’ broke in Soft Foot.

“‘Why,’ answered Vargu, looking up, ‘stories, of course. Fifteen,
sixteen—’

“‘Do you mean to say you known that many stories?’ demanded the leopard,
again interrupting.

“‘Of course I do,’ replied the other, ‘but, since leopards can’t talk to
monkeys, you wouldn’t be interested. Nineteen, twenty—’

“‘But I am interested,’ protested Soft Foot.

“‘Of course you are,’ said Vargu as he dropped his foot and ceased
counting, ‘and I know that you know a whole lot of tales in which I
would be interested. More than that, we both know that all the different
kinds of animals know stories that they might tell one another, if they
only would; and be a lot happier and a lot more sociable as a result.
So, why in the world don’t we all get acquainted and be friends?’

“‘We just can’t,’ answered Soft Foot. ‘It isn’t done.’

“‘But we two are doing it, aren’t we?’

“‘Y—es,’ admitted the other slowly.

“‘Well,’ argued Vargu, ‘what we two can do all the animals can do, if
they only will. And I have a plan that I am sure will succeed. What do
you say—will you help me?’

“The leopard sat thinking for fully a minute. Then he walked up and down
several times beneath the tree.

“‘Aw, come on,’ coaxed Vargu.

“‘There’s my paw on it, monkey,’ the other said finally. ‘My name’s Soft
Foot.’

“‘Mine’s Vargu,’ the monkey answered gleefully, ‘V-a-r-g-u with the u
silent, please. And now suppose we climb into the tree so we can talk
undisturbed.’”




                               CHAPTER IX
              IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CONCLUDES HER STORY


 Once seated above, each told the other his favorite story and, these
being finished, the leopard asked to hear of Vargu’s secret plan.

“‘You shall have it at once,’ the other declared. And with that he
sounded a soft, signaling note, while from somewhere appeared a
solemn-eyed monkey who was almost the image of Vargu.

“‘This,’ said the latter, ‘is my son, Too-Bo-Tan.’

“‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Soft Foot admiringly. ‘A mighty fine lad,
sure enough.’

“‘Yes,’ agreed Vargu, With some pride in his tone, ‘and, even though I
say it who shouldn’t, the very nimblest monkey in all Jungleland.
Indeed, that is why I have made Too-Bo a part of the plan. So now, if
you’ll both draw as close as ever you can, I’ll tell you what we’re to
do.’

“Just what was said, I’m sure I don’t know. But there was no end of
whispering, all of which argued that some deep dark plan was afoot that,
doubtless, would be made known in good time.

“Now, on the following night,” the Pretty Lady continued, “a very odd
thing came to pass. For, from the tops of the trees in many parts of
Jungleland, sounded a weird, mournful voice crying these words:

“‘Great rock near the desert’s edge—great rock near the desert’s
edge—rock—rock—rock!’

“All the animals heard the strange cry and some sprang into the trees to
learn who had made it. But, by the time they had done so, the voice was
far, far away, repeating the words like an echo.

“On the very next night, and at the very same hour, the cry came again.
With the speed of the wind it passed through the trees, wailing:

“‘Great rock near the desert’s edge—watch the hole in its face—hole in
its face—face—face—face!’

“Following this second message there was no other topic in all
Jungleland. The different families discussed it for hours; but not even
the wisdom of Black Mane, the mightiest of all the lions, could solve
the riddle. Of course, all knew of the rock—a huge wall of stone with a
face as smooth as our own Hippo’s back. Some sent scouts to examine it.
All returned with the very same word—there was not a sign of a hole to
be found.

“Now, on the third night, the mysterious voice came again. It was here,
there—everywhere at once so it seemed. And, as it passed on its way,
these words were framed by its cry:

“‘Rock near the desert’s edge—watch the hole in its face at midnight
to-night—at midnight to-night—to-night—to-night—to-night!’

“Excitement was everywhere. Jungleland resounded with the cries of
animal chiefs, calling their followers about them. And, forming into
bands, each separate group began moving toward the great rock. Out of
the forests and from the waste places they came—in herds, in troupes and
in pairs. But each kind kept to itself and, reaching the ground that
stretched from the foot of the cliff, remained as far apart from the
others as the width of the plain would allow.

“The moon was on high and there were millions of stars. Yet, though
these lighted the side of the rock, there was not a trace of a hole to
be seen. Still, it was not yet midnight; so, with eyes fixed on the
cliff, the strange gathering awaited some sign. And, on the very minute,
it came!

“Yes, something was about to take place. First, every ear heard a deep,
muffled sound—like a drum that is played far away. Next, a wee stream of
sand began to trickle down the face of the rock; then a rattling of
pebbles and still larger stones; while, high up, near the top of the
cliff, there gradually appeared an opening as round and as big as
Elephant’s foot.

“Not an animal dared breathe! Every eye was alert—every muscle grew
tense. Then, from the very heart of the rock and out through the hole,
came a voice that was almost like thunder.

“‘Who wants to hear a story?’ it roared.

“But not one of the watchers made answer.

“‘Who wants to hear a story?’ roared the voice once again.

“Then Great Spot, the leopard, took heart.

“‘We do,’ he replied.

“‘We, also,’ called Black Mane, while soon, from all sides, came voices
crying the same.

“‘Then harken, one and all,’ roared the voice from the rock.

“Now, what the story was about need not concern us just now,” continued
the Lady. “But there was a story—and oh, such an interesting one. At
times the listeners nudged one another with delight, while the younger
animals found themselves exchanging knowing glances with those they had
never so much as noticed before. But, as is often the contrary way of
those who tell tales, the voice that told this one suddenly stopped at
the most exciting point in the story.

“‘Tell us the rest,’ rose the cry from the plain.

“‘To-morrow, at midnight,’ roared the face of the cliff. ‘Come then, if
you’d hear the end of the tale.’

“Now you may be sure that the following night found all at the foot of
the great rock again. They were gathered together a full hour before
midnight and some spent the time retelling the story. But not all told
it alike, and soon—of all unheard-of things—animals who had never spoken
to one another in all their days found themselves appealing to know if
this or that were not the way the tale had been told. Even as they
debated, there came a roar from the cliff and the unseen one went on
with the story. In time it was finished and the great voice was stilled.

“‘Tell us another,’ cried all the animals from their place on the plain.

“But plead as they would, the voice came no more. And, strangely enough,
they never heard it again. They returned to the plain the very next
night, but the hole in the great rock had been closed. They waited until
long after midnight—but not one single sound came to greet them. Never
had there been such a mystery and it was talked of for hours upon hours
and days upon days. Time after time the animals came to the great rock
and, always, in quest of the voice that was stilled. As they lingered,
night after night, in the hope that it might come again, the various
animals told their own favorite stories. And then, little by little, the
different ones began listening to those that yet others told. This made
for friendships and, one memorable night, a certain monkey made bold to
suggest that at least once every week some particular animal be selected
to tell one story to all. The thought was approved and so, as time
passed along, this trysting place came to be known by a name that is
loved by every animal in Jungleland. And what, do you suppose, is it
called?”

“The Story Time Rock,” spoke up Lion.

“Why, yes!” answered the Pretty Lady. “But how did you know, Lion?”

“I’ve heard my grandfather tell of it. But he always finished by saying
there were none who ever solved the mystery of the voice that was
stilled.”

“No, no one ever did,” said the Lady. “Yet, like so many things that are
thought to be mysteries, it was really simple enough.”

“Then, for goodness’ sake, tell us the secret!” cried Monkey, “for I’m
just bursting to know.”

“Why, it was like this: Long before Vargu—”

“The Watch! The Watch! The Petal Watch!” broke in Diggeldy Dan. “A
thousand pardons, Pretty Lady, but it’s almost closed!”

“So it is,” cried she, jumping to her feet. “We’ve not a moment to lose.

“Back to your places, every one of you,” she added, as she bounded to
her seat on the White-White Horse, “until half after twilight to-morrow,
when I’ll come to tell you the rest.”

And with a hurried “Sleep tight” and a last silvery laugh, she sped away
toward her home in the west.




                               CHAPTER X
        IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY TELLS OF MYSTERIES AND SPANGLES


 “Well,” said Tiger, as he folded his paws in a most complacent manner,
“I’m ready.”

“We, also,” declared Elephant, speaking for his entire family, who,
having formed a line, were just at that moment swaying backward and
forward quite as if they were about to glide into the graceful maze of a
waltz.

“So are all of us,” commented Lion, as he surveyed the great group from
his station before it. “I wonder what can be keeping the Pretty Lady?”

“Perhaps the White-White Horse is delayed by the clouds,” suggested
Elephant, as he paused long enough to push back the wall near the caves
of the tent and peer into the dusk. “I can make out whole crowds of them
along the streets of the sky. They have been there all afternoon. It is
always that way on market days. Even the sun can scarcely find its way.”

“How long do you suppose it has been since half-past twilight began?”
asked Emu of Diggeldy Dan.

“Well, well,” said the clown, as he drew the Petal Watch from the
innermost depths of his round, funny hat, “now that’s what I call a
question.”

“Let me see,” mused he, setting his head on one side, pursing his very
red lips and half shutting his two, twinkling eyes. “I should
say—though, mind you, I do not pretend to be exactly correct—I should
say it has been not less than five hippo-yawns, nor yet more than two
cat-naps.”

“Oh, surely, it must be longer than that,” protested Monkey. “It seems
an age to me. I never saw such a watch, anyway. Now, if it had behaved
for but a minute more last evening, we should all have known the secret
of the Story Time Rock.”

“Monkey, Monkey,” sighed Lion, “I am afraid that you are of that queer
set of folks who are ever looking for a clock that will travel both ways
at one time.”

“Both ways at one time!” exclaimed Monkey. “Why, who ever spoke of any
such thing? I surely did not, for, of course no such clock could
possibly be.”

“No, it could not,” answered Lion. “Yet, I repeat, that is what you
would like. For, in one breath, you find fault with the Petal Watch
because it moved too swiftly last night, and in the next you complain
because it travels so slowly to-day.”

“Exactly,” chimed Dan.

“Well, I never stopped to think of it in just that way,” admitted
Monkey, as he scratched his head, “and, besides—”

“Besides,” broke in the keen-eared Hyena, “here comes the one for whom
we’re all waiting!”

Sure enough there resounded the patter of oncoming hoofs and the next
moment into the menagerie tent galloped the White-White Horse, carrying
the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes. Her pink cheeks made the pinker
by the speed of the ride, and her curls blown straight back with the
rush of the wind, she drew up in front of the group.

“It was the clouds,” she explained. “There were simply no end of them
out shopping to-day, and then any number waited to see the sun go down.
Of course, all had to have spangles; and some of the baby clouds wanted
two helpings. That all took time, but—here I am at last. See! the
Spangle Bag is almost as flat as Elephant’s ear.”

“Where will you get enough spangles to fill it again?” asked Camel.

“I’ll be glad to tell you, but, for the present, one thing at a time.
Remember, we have not yet solved the mystery of the Story Time Rock.
Unless,” she hastened to add, “unless you have guessed the riddle of the
voice that was stilled.”

“Not one of us has,” answered Lion, “though we are all convinced that
Vargu was pretty much at the bottom of the whole strange affair.”

“He was, sure enough,” assented the Lady, “and this was the way of it:
Quite some time before he had made friends with Soft Foot Vargu had
discovered an all but hidden cave with an entrance from the top of the
cliff. He had explored it repeatedly and so knew its outer wall was
almost worn through the face of the rock. Now, as you may have guessed,
it was the nimble Too-Bo-Tan who passed through the tops of the trees
sending out the strange cry that called all the animals together.
Meanwhile, Vargu had taught Soft Foot a wonderful story. Finally, there
came the night when all the animals were gathered at the foot of the
cliff. And then, taking a stone, Vargu pounded a hole through the wall
of the cave to the outer side of the rock. Next, Soft Foot spoke to
those on the great plain below; and then he told them the story. Of
course, since he was telling it from the hollow depths of the cave, his
voice sounded ever so big. And so there was really no mystery at all.

“Having gained his point—that of bringing all the animals together—Vargu
gave his time to the meetings that were held on the plain. As the years
passed, Too-Bo-Tan succeeded his father and became the favorite among
all those who told tales at the Story Time Rock. And finally he came to
be a leader among them; and is to this very day.”

“Shall we ever see him?” asked Diggeldy Dan.

“I’m sure I don’t know. Sometime, perhaps. And now, one and all, a merry
good night, for I must hurry away to thread my spangle needles and set
them in place.”

“Spangle needles,” repeated Puma. “Pray, what are they?”

“Why, what else but needles that catch the spangles,” laughed the Pretty
Lady, “which reminds me that I was to tell you about them. Here,
Diggeldy Dan, take your place at the head of my White-White Horse, while
I explain just how spangles are made.

“You see,” she went on, as Dan skipped to obey, “spangles are really
nothing more than dewdrops squeezed out very flat. As for a
supply—there’s no end; but to catch them’s a trick requiring no little
knack. Now it has been my happy task to gather spangles for the clouds,
and for all the glittering hosts of our own Spangleland for ever and
ever and ever so long. And this is the best way of all: First, I take a
great armful of needles—medium sized moonbeams give the finest
results—and thread them with cobwebs. Next, I plant them along the sides
of my house directly under the edge of the eaves, with their heads in
the ground and their sharp little noses straight up in the air. Now,
during the night the dewdrops come to play on the roof and many jump off
to the garden below. And, as they do, they land on the points of the
moonbeams. Down they come, never minding in the least, for, if there is
one thing that a dewdrop would rather be than a dewdrop, it’s a spangle.
On and on they come, piling one on the other, becoming very flat, very
shiny and very round, and then sliding on to the threads. So, when
morning comes, I take the Spangle Bag, ‘snip’ the knots, and let the
spangles tumble and tinkle into its depths. And so I always have enough
to sprinkle the sunset whenever I pass.”

“Why, that must be the way the rain gets into the clouds!” cried
Diggeldy Dan.

“It’s one of the ways,” smiled the Lady.

“And the reason why spangles always have a wee hole in the middle,”
remarked Seal.

“How wonderfully fortunate,” added Zebra. “Otherwise, they couldn’t be
sewed.”

“I don’t see why you say that,” said Kangaroo.

“Say what?” asked Zebra.

“Why, that they have to have holes to be sowed.”

“But they do.”

“Can’t see it,” persisted Kangaroo.

“Why, how could one make them stay on?”

“Just sow them, of course,” answered Kangaroo, “toss them on.”

“Now, don’t be silly, Kangaroo,” said Zebra, “you—”

“Hold on a moment,” interrupted Lion. “I think I see the point. Let me
ask you, Kangaroo: On what are you thinking of sowing the spangles?”

“Why, I mean like when the Pretty Lady sows them on the cloud banks when
she rides past,” replied Kangaroo.

“And you, Zebra?” asked Lion.

“Camel’s plush robe, and costumes and things,” said Zebra.

“Oh, you mean ‘s-e-w-e-d!’” cried Kangaroo.

“Oh, you mean ‘s-o-w-e-d!’” apologized Zebra.

And amid the laughter that followed Dan assisted the Pretty Lady to the
back of the White-White Horse.

“You’ll come again, some day?” asked Lion, as the golden-haired one
waved them a smiling farewell.

“Some day,” she replied. And, giving full rein to her steed, she
galloped down the length of the tent. As the White-White Horse nosed his
way through the wall, the animals caught a glimpse of the first dartling
beams of a far-distant star. The Pretty Lady seemed to regard the beams
for a moment, as if trying to make up her mind whether they would quite
do for spangle needles. Then the wall closed again and the Lady, the
White-White Horse and the star passed from view, while all of the
animals hurried back to their places, still discussing the spangles that
were made from the dew.




                               CHAPTER XI
      IN WHICH THE ANIMALS PLAY AT CIRCUS AND DAN PROMISES A STORY


 It was but a few evenings following that upon which the Pretty Lady had
set out in quest of the spangle needles. Diggeldy Dan had mounted to his
place on Hippo’s broad back, and Lion had taken his in front of the
group, when the clattering crew made a startling discovery:

Monkey was missing!

Look where they would, he was nowhere to be found; call as they would,
he gave no answering sound.

“He unhooked my chain,” said Elephant.

“And opened the gate to my corral,” added Ostrich.

“I saw him talking with Zebra not a minute ago,” puzzled Dan.

“Zebra,” repeated Lion, “Zebra? Where is Zebra? Why, he is gone, too!”

Here was a mystery, indeed!

“Scatter at once,” ordered Lion, “and leave no nook unsearched.” And
“scatter” they did. Some went into the depths of the cages, others
looked underneath, while Giraffe and his family inspected every square
inch of the roofs. But not a glimpse did they catch of the runaway pair.

“Redouble the search,” commanded Lion, from his station in the center of
the menagerie tent. But scarcely had he spoken when from a distance came
the patter and clatter of hurrying hoofs.

“All searchers to the front,” countermanded Lion. “For, if I mistake not
the sound, here comes a visitor who will doubtless be willing to lend us
her aid.”

Even as he concluded there dashed into view—whom do you suppose? The
Pretty Lady and the White-White Horse? Ah! but you are wrong. For it was
none other than Zebra, with that mischievous Monkey perched on his back!
Down the length of the tent the two of them scurried, traveling
lickety-split.

“Here! Here!” commanded Lion. “Get back to your places this very
minute!”

“Just as soon as we’ve let the wind comb our hair,” came the cry in
reply. And the next moment, with Zebra’s ears flopping this way and
that, and Monkey doing his best to look entirely at ease, the truants
returned to the group.

What a picture they made!

Zebra wore a bridle with a brilliant red plume, while Monkey was lost
almost wholly to view in a gorgeous pink hat and a skirt made of blue.

“Well, young sirs, what does this mean?” demanded Lion.

“Why,” whimpered Monkey, “Zebra and I talked it over and thought it
would be fun to play circus. So we stole away to the little tents and
borrowed some costumes. Now, don’t scold, Lion. We didn’t mean to do
anything wrong.”

“Hum,” answered Lion, who was really rather pleased with the thought.
“Play circus, eh? Well—go ahead; let us see what you two can do.”

“Oh,” returned Monkey, brightening up, “but we can’t perform without a
ring, and a ringmaster and everything like that—”

“And, of course, we must have music,” added Zebra. “You see we thought
that since Elephant and Seal and their folks are such splendid
musicians, perhaps they—”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” agreed Elephant, amid his family’s ponderous nods
of approval.

“At your service, always,” chimed Seal, as his household clapped their
funny front fins in consent.

“If no objection—will make ring,” scrawled Giraffe on the side of a
cage.

Of course there was none; so, digging the top from Dan’s pocket, and
using his hind feet as a pivot, Giraffe spread his front legs wide
apart, reached far out with his neck, and gradually swung around in a
great circle While he described an almost perfect ring on the ground by
using the spike in the top for a marker.

[Illustration: And so this strangest of all circuses began. _Page 83._]

Meanwhile, many willing workers rolled a dozen or more gayly painted
“tubs” to the edge of the ring. Then came the band bringing all manner
of drums and queer-looking horns, to say nothing of Elephant carrying
his mammoth bass viol; after which each player took a seat on one of the
tubs and began to “tune up” for the circus.

“Of course, we must have an announcer,” said Lion.

“I’ll be him,” cried Tiger.

Needless to say, Diggeldy Dan was the clown, while Lion—wearing an old
silk hat that Seal sometimes juggled in the real circus, and armed with
a whip that Puma had brought from the great tent beyond—played
ringmaster.

And so this strangest of all circuses began.

“Just watch my two ears for the tempo and time,” said Elephant, who
conducted the band. Thus, with the bow of his great fiddle held firmly
in his forefoot, and playing notes that fairly boomed with their
bigness, he set his ears to beating: “One, two, three; one, two, three,”
while the music tripped forth in a soft, swaying waltz. After a few bars
had been played, Tiger raised his paw for silence and then stepped
gravely to the front of the ring.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “I take pleasure in announcing
Mademoiselle Monkeyetta, direct from the deepest depths of Jungleland,
who, with her marvelous steed, Zebraello, will now astonish you with her
wonderful feats of riding.”

At this Seal and his family played a ringing, lingering “ta-ta-a-a-ah”
on their horns; the band struck up the liveliest of melodies, while into
the ring trotted Zebra with Monkey posed on his back. Close behind came
Diggeldy Dan, balancing his round, pointed hat on the tip of his nose.

And then, at a whip-crack from Lion, the riding began.

Around and around went the galloping pair—a maze of black and white
stripes surmounted by a higgeldy-piggeldy ball of ruffles of blue, a
flopping pink hat, with here and there a brown leg or an arm. At first
Monkey did little more than hold fast to Zebra’s short mane. But,
gradually becoming used to his steed’s measured stride, the merry-eyed
fellow dared to stand on his feet and to dance as they flew round the
ring. At this all the animals applauded with glee, while Lion cracked
his long whip even more than before.

Faster and faster went Elephant’s ears. Faster and faster went the
music, and faster and faster sped Zebra. And then, all of a sudden, this
wonderful steed stopped short in his tracks, sending Monkey high over
his head!

All leaped to their feet to see the marvelous rider sitting quite in a
heap and striving to free his face from the depths of his hat which had
been completely switched about by the tumble.

“I say, there! That wasn’t one of the things we planned to do,”
sputtered Monkey from inside the bonnet.

“I know it,” admitted Zebra, as he did his best to smother his laughter;
“but, as I was going round and round it occurred to me that I would make
a far better looking trick mule than a handsome circus horse. And, as
trick mules always toss their riders over their ears—why, I just came to
a stop, and—there you are.”

“Yes,” assented Monkey, rather ruefully, “here I am.” But, scrambling to
his feet and disposing of the bonnet, he caught the twinkle in every
eye. And then he, too, burst into a merry laugh.

“Zebra, you were quite right,” he said. “Perhaps we were both taking
ourselves a bit too seriously; for, I’m bound to confess, I hardly look
like one of the beautiful circus ladies who ride round the rings.”

“Anyway, it all added to the fun,” said Diggeldy Dan. “In fact, Zebra
reminded me of a donkey I once rode in a small one-ring circus of the
long, long ago.”

“Oh, then you were not always with the very biggest kind?” questioned
Puma.

“By no means,” answered Dan, “and, indeed, might never have been had I
not met Gray Ears, the Elephant.”

“A story, a story!” cried Leopard. “Tell us the story!”

“To-morrow I will,” agreed Diggeldy Dan, “for the Petal Watch warns me
there is no time to-day. Come, now, Zebra, hurry away with the plume and
costume and put them where they belong, while Monkey and I close each
door and corral.

“At twilight to-morrow,” the clown called again, as Zebra returned and
his chain was hooked fast; “then I’ll tell you the tale of a midsummer’s
day, away back in the dim, distant past.”




                              CHAPTER XII
                IN WHICH DAN ANSWERS THE BECKONING TREES


 Not in all Spangleland, nor, for that matter, anywhere else, is there
to be found quite such a twilight as that which is spun in the great
tent that belongs to the “monkeys, and lions, and tigers and things.”

As you must often have noted, there is among the breezes, a certain one
that is extremely partial to animals. It is never happier than when
ruffling the forelock of some big dapple-gray; teasing the tail of proud
chanticleer; or cradling a gull in its wide-spreading arms. Indeed, it
is the very “vagrant breeze” of which, doubtless, you have heard many
times. But, wherever its fancy may carry it throughout the hours of the
day, it always reaches Spangleland just before the sun dips from view.
There it seeks out a hiding place on the edge of the town, to watch and
to wait. And, at the first sign of eventide, this knowing breeze slips
along near the ground, wriggles under the wall, and so comes inside the
menagerie tent.

Once within, it frolics this way and that, but so very slyly that even
the keenest-eared of the animals can no more detect it than one might
hear a butterfly sing. Yet it is here, there, and everywhere, rubbing
its nose against the blue of the poles and its back and its sides
against the cages of red. In doing this it takes just a bit of the color
of both and so clothes itself in a soft, purple coat. Then, when it
departs, it leaves the filmy garment behind, and that, you see, is the
twilight.

Now, it was just at the moment when this vagrant breeze had cast off its
robe that Dan wound his arms around his knees, gazed thoughtfully across
the tops of them and started the story of Gray Ears, the Elephant.

“It all began with the beckoning trees,” he said rather slowly. “You
see, they kept calling me. I was never far from them. The one-ring
circus of which I was a part was so very small that it never ventured
into the cities, but contented itself with visiting the smallest of
hamlets and villages. So, as we moved from one to the other, our winding
wagon train threaded roads that led through the woods. When we pitched
our tent, it was often at the very edge of the trees. And always, ever
and always, they beckoned me. At times it was as if their topmost
branches were swayed by great puffs of wind. At such moments they would
bend toward me and then toss themselves back again, as if saying in
pantomime:

“‘Come on, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan; come on and play!’

“And, as often as they called, just that often did I resolve to answer.
But, somehow, I seemed never able to find the time. You see, just
because it was so very small, the circus needed the help of all of us to
put it in place, to give the performances, and then to move on and on.
And so I was busy throughout all the day.

“As the summer advanced and the woods grew more green and the shadows
more dense, the call came again and again. There were times when I was
tempted to let everything go and just skip away to the deep, leafy
depths. Now this may seem odd to you—”

“Ah, but it does not,” spoke up Leopard; “I know the feeling.”

“And I,” added Tiger.

“So do we all,” said Lion, a bit wistfully. “Indeed, if it were not for
the certain most important reason, I sometimes think we animals
might—well, there is no telling what we might do. But, of course, there
are the children—”

“Yes, yes, the children,” repeated all the animals, very softly.

“The children, to be sure,” agreed Diggeldy Dan. “I thought of them,
too. ‘It is all very well for you to dream of running off to the woods,
Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,’ I would say to myself, ‘but what of the
children that come to the circus to see the clowns? What, yes, what
would they say if there wasn’t any clown? Answer me that, Diggeldy Dan.’
And yet, there came a day when all my reasoning went to the winds.

“It happened on an afternoon when our tent was pitched between the
littlest of towns and the greatest of woods. The crowd had come, the
band had begun to play, the circus was in full swing. I was in the ring,
jesting with the ringmaster and cutting my cleverest capers. But my
thoughts were in the depths of the woods. For I could see the green of
the trees through the eaves of the tent and the rugged brown trunks
through the half-curtained door. And, oh, how they called me! Not even
the mirth of the tow-headed boy who sat in the very front row, nor the
forget-me-nots on the bonnet of the little girl just behind him could
take the tug from my heart.

“Now on this day, as always, there came the moment when I made a face at
the ringmaster while he, on his part, let fly with his whip. And, as was
the fashion, I pretended great awe of him and dashed from the ring to
escape his advance. This bit of acting I had done whole dozens of times,
always scampering as far as the door at the rear of the tent and then
coming back to my place. But, just as I reached the curtain on this
afternoon, the great wind-puffs began! How the hundreds upon hundreds of
branches bent forward; and how they swept backward again! They were
beckoning me onward, beckoning as never before!

“And so, without so much as turning my head, I bounded on through the
door and ran straight for the trees. As I reached the first of them,
there came the voice of the ringmaster bidding me return. Soon other
voices, voices great and small and deep and shrill, rose in one clear
cry:

“‘Come back, Dan! Come back, Diggeldy Dan!’

“But the woods now held me fast in their arms.

“‘On, on, Diggeldy Dan!’ called every leaf.

“‘Stop, stop!’ pleaded every child and, mingling with their voices, I
could hear the guttural bass of the ringmaster’s shout.

“How I ran! Deep, deep into the depths of the boundless woods I sped;
and deep, deep into the boundless woods came they who gave chase.
Peering back over my shoulder, I could see all the children, and all
their fathers and mothers and uncles and even their aunts coming
pell-mell in pursuit, all led by the ringmaster in his shiny top hat and
shiny top boots.

“‘You must not run away, Dan!’ warned a voice from within.

“‘Come away, come away, Dan!’ sang the leaves from the trees.

“And so I pressed on. Indeed, I could not stop. The leaves underfoot
seemed in league with those overhead. They pushed against the soles of
my feet, sending me forward by leaps and by bounds. But, fast as I ran,
those who came after proved even swifter than I. Looking back once
again, I could see the ringmaster had redoubled his speed. On he came,
the split tails of his coat sticking straight out behind, while,
clinging tight to the ends of them were the tow-headed boy and the
little girl with the forget-me-not bonnet!

“I was glad they were gaining on me; and yet I was sorry. I wanted them
to catch me, and yet I did not. Meanwhile, I ran like the wind. But they
came nearer and nearer. Now the ringmaster was so close that I could
make out the tiger-eye buttons on his very red vest.

[Illustration: “Something came from out the air, and swept me square off
my toes.” _Page 95._]

“A hundred paces ahead showed the shadowy outline of a densely leafed
thicket. For this cover I sped and, rounding its shoulder, shut my
pursuers from view. And then, just as I did so, something came from out
the air, swept me square off my toes, swung me outward and aloft and
then dropped me into the depths of the thicket!

“As I scrambled to my feet I could hear the clamoring cries and glimpse
the hurrying forms of the throng as they swept around the corner of the
coppice that covered me. There were children of all ages and sizes, with
many curls and many hair-ribbons held out on the lap of the wind. And
there were no end of mothers with very bright eyes and very pink cheeks,
hand in hand with no end of fathers. And some carried umbrellas which
they brandished overhead as they ran.

“But suddenly there came a halt. For a puzzled half-minute the
ringmaster stood looking first to the left and next to the right. Then,
as if making up his mind that I had gone toward the north, he cut the
air with his whip, thrust it forward like a captain leading his troops
on to victory, and cried:

“‘Into the deeper woods!’

“Instantly all the fathers pointed aloft in exactly the same manner, and
away went the throng, raising more of a cry than before.

“At this I would have recalled them. But no sooner had I opened my mouth
to do so than there came a warning ‘S-s-s-sh’ so tremendous that it
fairly blew the hat off my head. And, looking to the left and to the
right, I saw that I was standing between two great mud-colored posts,
roofed in with a chin and the undermost side of a monstrous mouth
overhung with a nose that came halfway to the ground!

“‘Not a word out of you,’ warned the mouth.

“‘Swish, swish,’ from side to side went the nose.

“Tighter and tighter squeezed the two ponderous posts!

“And, meanwhile, the voices of those who had left me behind grew fainter
and fainter and fainter, until, finally, I could hear them no more.

“‘Now, then,’ said the mouth, as the posts, which were really two legs,
drew apart; and the nose, more correctly a trunk, reached back and
lifted me to a place in the light, ‘now you may make as much noise as
you please.’

“And, looking up, I found myself gazing into the good-humored face of an
elephant of marvelous size.”




                              CHAPTER XIII
               IN WHICH DAN LEARNS OF PEANUTS AND THINGS


 “At first my captor merely appealed to me as the merriest-eyed elephant
I had ever seen—and surely the largest. But I soon discovered that he
had a way of going about matters in a most business-like manner. Thus he
immediately began to plan for the two of us.

“‘Now, then,’ said he, ‘we will leave this rather public place and go to
my private apartment. So if you will just hop to the top of my third
toe—yes, the right foot will do—and place your arm about my knee—ah!
that is the way—we will proceed.’

“And so, I clinging tightly to the big fellow’s leg—a great deal as
children sometimes do when they are very small and father’s foot is to
be persuaded to give them a ride—we started on our way, the whole of me
moving quite like a walking stick when it accompanies its master on a
leisurely stroll through the park. On through thicket, grove and tangled
foliage we went, and then, quite of a moment, passed between two giant
trees which formed the natural doorway leading into a half-inclosed room
of the woods. I call it a room because it possessed the entrance just
mentioned, a floor entirely free from undergrowth, a raggedy west window
outlined with boughs, and a wide-spreading roof fashioned by a gigantic
vine.

“Two logs with branches broken off near the trunks, a flat-topped stump
of considerable size, and a curious hanging basket affair formed by a
lacing of vine loops completed the furnishings. On the floor was a pile
of freshly plucked leaves.

“‘You will really have to forgive the appearance of things,’ apologized
my host. ‘You see I was at lunch when I heard the shouts and so jumped
right up from the table and made my way to the thicket. Besides, I moved
in only last night. Nothing fancy, I’ll admit; but comfortable. I was
rather taken with the rustic furniture—so in keeping with a place of
this kind, don’t you think? But do sit down!’

“And, motioning me to accept one of the logs while he took the other,
the big fellow swung one foot into the basket-like contrivance of which
I have spoken, leaned back in an attitude of perfect contentment and
rumbled something about ‘his idea of solid comfort.’ Then, noting that
my eye was upon the queer-looking swing that supported his foot, he
added:

“‘Ah, I see you are interested in this little invention of mine. A
combination hammock and provider, if you please. Hammock for the reason
you already see; provider because—’

“And at that he set the foot that lay in the loops of the vine to
pumping so hard that the whole of the roof began to rock as if shaken by
some mighty wind. Scores upon scores of leaves soon carpeted the floor.
These the ponderous fellow swept together with the tip of his trunk
without so much as leaving his seat, and then added them to the
half-eaten pile I had noticed.

“‘A rather clever idea, I should say,’ said he, with some show of pride,
‘that is, if one doesn’t mind eating the shingles off one’s own house.
Of course, you see the point: roof, shingles—leaves. Ha! Ha! I thought
you would.’ And with that he laughed as though he had made quite the
best joke in all the world. But in another moment, he had dropped into
silence only to break it again to inquire my name.

“‘Diggeldy Dan,’ I replied. ‘And yours?’

“‘Gray Ears, the Elephant,’ he answered as his look suddenly changed to
one of great soberness. ‘Not just Gray Ears, mind you, nor yet merely
Elephant, but “Gray Ears, the Elephant.” In fact, it is what one might
call a whole sentence of a name. However, aside from the fact that it
does not well lend itself to being nicknamed, I cannot say much for it.
For, in the first place—just as there are two sides to every story so
are there to every ear. And the under side of an elephant’s ear is
ofttimes a rare pink and frequently as speckled as the nether part of a
trout. As for the phrase, “the Elephant,” it is absolutely and
positively silly. For, to look at me, you would not suppose me a
bumblebee, nor yet a bobolink, now would you? Still, such is my name and
I make the most of it. But, to change the tune of our talk, tell me:
Whence have you come and why did you run away from the circus?’

“Answering, I told him my story and ended by adding that had he not
prevented I should have shouted most lustily and so called back those
who, doubtless, were still in pursuit of me.

“‘For,’ said I, ‘it was quite wrong of me to have run away in the first
place.’

“‘Yes, in a way,’ assented Gray Ears, ‘but, on the other hand, I am sure
the children, the grown-ups, and even the ringmaster will enjoy their
lark in the woods even though they return without you. Thus no
inconvenience has come to them, you will go back to your place in the
late evening and, in the meantime, perform a most charitable act by
lending me your merry company for a few hours. For, to be perfectly
frank, I, too, am a runaway and a rather lonesome one.’

“‘You don’t mean that you are’—I began with some excitement.

“‘A circus elephant,’ finished Gray Ears. ‘None other than the mightiest
and most marvelous of all pachyderms and easily the leading feature of
the mammoth menagerie of the Very Biggest Circus.’

“And he voiced these mile-long words with so much impressiveness that
had he worn a waistcoat I am sure he would have thrust his thumb-toes
into the armholes of it.

“Here was an adventure! A meeting with one who came from the great,
great circus of which I, who had ever been with the smallest, had heard
and dreamed of, yet never seen!

“‘But, in the woods—you—I don’t understand—’ I puzzled.

“‘My dear fellow,’ returned Gray Ears as he waved in the direction of
the very tallest trees, ‘do you suppose that you are the only one who
feels the call? Besides, I had been told that a specially interesting
variety of the _pistache de terre_ was to be found in this part of the
woods. So I laid my plans and, While we were at the railroad yards? last
night awaiting our turn to go into our cars, I walked softly away along
the shadowy places, kept to the back streets of the town and so finally
reached the open country. But as to the earth-nut that is said to be
found hereabouts, a whole morning’s search has failed to discover even a
single vine.

“‘You see,’ he continued, with a great show of-vanity, ‘I have the
largest collection of the _pistache de terre_ in existence.’ And
spreading his toes apart, two at a time, and burrowing into the openings
with the tip of his trunk, he began to take something from each. And
then, what do you suppose he finally laid in a heap on the top of the
tree stump?”

“What?” cried all the animals in excited chorus.

“Peanuts!” answered Diggeldy Dan. “Just ordinary, everyday, circus
peanuts. And after all those long words, too! At least, that was What
they looked like to me. And so, never thinking, I blurted, ‘Oh,
peanuts!’ (no doubt with a look of disappointment, for I had expected
something quite wonderful) and then added, ‘No thank you; I don’t
believe I care for any just now. But don’t let that keep you from having
some.’

“‘Having some!’ repeated my companion, as if unable to believe his ears,
large as they were. ‘Having some!’ he fairly shouted again in horrified
tones. And then, looking at me in the most pitying manner he added,
‘Why, Friend Clown, do you not suppose there are elephants who look upon
the peanut as something more than a thing to be eaten? That there are
those of us who study them?—for what happier hobby could a circus
elephant have than that which calls for the collecting of this most
excellent nut!

“‘Consider this one, for instance,’ continued Gray Ears, as he held one
of the peanuts up to the light. ‘That is the true goober. See with what
a delicate sweep it curves in at the waist line. Here, on the other
hand, is a quite different nut—the pindar that comes from the islands. A
sailor brought it to the circus one day. To you, and to him, it is
merely a peanut. But to the trained eye there is a warm, yellow tint in
its wrinkled face and a certain sweep to its curves that place it far
from its various cousins. So, during my travels, thousands upon
thousands of nuts have passed under my eyes and, from them, I have made
this collection of exactly seventeen different ones.’

“And so he passed from one peanut to another, pointing out the beauties
of each,” went on Diggeldy Dan, “and was just explaining that the word
peanut was unknown to the children of some lands, while ‘monkey-nut’
served for a name instead, when, suddenly stopping short and gathering
his brows into three immensely deep puckers, he fixed his attention upon
something away toward the west.

“Following his gaze, I saw a bloodred blotch that fairly flamed far off
through the trees.

“‘Fire!’ we both cried, as if in one breath; and then Gray Ears began to
laugh at the thought.

“‘Fire nothing!’ said he. ‘It’s the sun making ready for bed.’

“‘Goodness me, so it is!’ I exclaimed. ‘I had no idea it was so late. I
hope you will not think me rude, but, really I must go at once.’

“‘Of course you must,’ the big fellow agreed, as he led the way from the
room. ‘I fear I have delayed you too long as it is. But never doubt,
I’ll have you back at the edge of the littlest town in but a little
while more than no time at all. Come—on to my third toe! Hold
fast—there! We’re off!’

“And with his trunk rolled into position while I clung with both arms to
his leg, Gray Ears started forward with such amazing strides that, had I
not been standing on one of his feet, I would surely have thought that
he had suddenly been shod with seven-league boots. Away we crashed,
making straight for the heart of the sunset. Onward we—”

“Hey, Dan! Dan! The Petal Watch! The Petal Watch!” cried Monkey.

“Closing, sure enough,” rejoined Diggeldy Dan and a minute later he was
skipping away down the menagerie tent, calling a good night to his
friends and assuring them he would be back on the morrow and tell them
still more of the tale.




                              CHAPTER XIV
   IN WHICH DAN PARTS WITH OLD FRIENDS AND PREPARES TO CLAIM A REWARD


 “Never, I’ll warrant you, had the greatest of woods resounded with so
strange a commotion,” continued Diggeldy Dan, as he again took up the
thread of his story. “Never, I’ll make bold to surmise, had so singular
a carry-all with such a gayly dressed passenger boomed through the quiet
of its sunset hour. For what could have proved more of a surprise to
those peaceful surroundings than the approach of an elephant most as big
as a house, coming onward with strides as wide as a wall, and a clown
clinging fast to one foot!

“Yet, forward we crashed and we plunged, making straight for the
littlest town. Far ahead the tree trunks and the low-hanging boughs
showed blue-black against the russet and red of the sky that windowed
the woods to the west. And from this very same spot sprang long,
fan-like rays with edges of silver and edges of gold, travelling to meet
us and bathing all that they passed in soft, yellow light. Straight for
this light the two of us lunged—smashingly, dashingly onward—shaking the
ground and the glades as we went: bound for the edge of the town. Now we
came to the top of a leaf-covered slope that played floor to an open
space lined on both sides with trees. And there, at the end, was the
fast sinking sun, while smack up against its ruby-red face stood the
spire of a church in the town.

“At sight of the steeple we slackened our pace, veered a bit to the
left, and—in a half-minute more—reached the fringe of the trees for
which I had sped when I first took flight to the woods. Another stride
and Gray Ears had thrust his huge head through a rift in the foliage,
and we looked out over the field. And then I made a most startling
discovery.

“The circus was nowhere to be seen!

“Thinking I might have mistaken the spot, I sprang from my place to the
ground. But, alas! there were the holes that had once held the stakes,
and the tracks and the scars left by the red wagon wheels to prove what
I feared to be only too true.

“As I stood there, sadly surveying the spot, Gray Ears strode across to
my side.

“‘They have gone,’ I said to him, sadly, ‘gone on, leaving Diggeldy
Dan.’

“‘Gone, to be sure,’ he agreed, ‘but tush, tush—what a queer tone of
voice. And whoever heard of a clown with a mouth that turned down! So
cheer up, for doubtless it is all for the best. And in the meantime let
us again seek the trees, for I think I heard someone approaching.’

“True enough, as we slipped out of sight three figures came toward us
along a path that skirted the field. And, there walking hand in hand
with a big, broad-shouldered man, were the tow-headed boy and the little
girl with the forget-me-not bonnet.

“‘Of course, they’ll get another one, won’t they, Uncle Tommy-Tom?’ the
little girl was asking as they came within hearing.

“‘Oh, by all means. Every circus must have its clown.’

“‘But where-from will he come?’

“‘Well, I’m not certain,’ replied the one called Uncle Tommy-Tom, ‘but I
saw the ringmaster getting a gayly colored suit from out a big trunk
just after we had returned from the chase. And there was a man fussing
with an odd-looking wig and mixing some red and white paint. Then I
heard the two of them talking, and the man with the paint said he’d have
everything in shape by the time they reached the next town.’

“‘Oh, then, of course, they were getting ready to make a new clown,’
spoke up the tow-headed boy in a most knowing and positive fashion.

“‘Make one?’ questioned the little girl. ‘Make one how?’

“‘Why, up, to be sure,’ answered the boy. ‘Clowns are always made up,
though I can’t tell you up where ’cause the piece I read didn’t say.’

“And so, still talking, the three of them melted away in the gathering
dusk. Even as I stood gazing down the path they had taken, I felt my
companion’s trunk on my shoulder.

“‘Come, come, Friend Dan, there’s nothing to be gained by tarrying here.
Besides, I have already put my wits back to work and hit upon a plan by
which even now you are as good as engaged as a clown with the Very
Biggest Circus.

“‘No, not a word,’ was his warning command, as I sought to ply him with
questions. ‘For I have not yet completed the whole of my scheme.
Besides, our first thought must be of a lodging place for the night.
So—your arms round my leg once again.’

“Obeying, I mounted the big fellow’s foot and we plunged back into the
depths of the woods. Presently we came to a space well covered with
grass and here we made ready for bed. Hollowing a hole for the bumpy
part of his head, Gray Ears was soon stretched out on his side, while I,
using the curve of his trunk for a pillow, snugly bunked in the lee of
his ponderous front knees.

“Twice I sought to speak of the plan he had named and twice did my
companion bid me be silent. And so, lying there gazing upward through
the canopy of boughs to the patches of star-sprinkled sky, I pictured
the future that unfolded before me.

“The night was balmy and there were sweet-smelling flowers near my head.
Gray Ears’ trunk made a most comfortable cushion, and close by a cricket
sang. So, in spite of my musings, I was soon ready for sleep. Indeed, I
rather resented being suddenly roused and told to make ready for another
march through the woods. Still, I obeyed, and in what seemed even less
than a twinkling, found myself in a tent of marvelous size. In it were
simply whole battalions of clowns and, most wonderful of all, a
fireplace quite as big as the side of our own Hippo’s cage. Then from
somewhere there dangled dozens upon dozens of mile-long vine branches,
and taking hold of the ends of them the clowns began to bind some one
fast to the ground. Even as I looked I saw that the ‘some one’ was Gray
Ears. Yes, the strange clowns were making the big fellow a prisoner,
and, prying his great toes apart, were extracting the peanuts one at a
time! As fast as the nuts were removed they were taken to the front of
the fireplace. In vain did their owner protest. All were to be burned on
the spot.

“Finally the first of the peanuts was pushed to the edge of the fire. In
a moment I recognized it as my friend’s favorite nut—the delicately
colored pindar that had come from the islands. And crying, ‘No! No! Not
that one!’ I bounded straight for the hearth, bent upon rolling the nut
from the flames. The heat was intense. I could feel its hot breath on my
brow. Then a wind seemed to fan the flames into great, leaping tongues
and, looking about, I saw that all the clowns had joined round with
hand-bellows, which they were pumping for all they were worth. At the
same moment I reached forward to rescue the peanut. And then—I opened my
eyes.

“Above me was the same canopy of boughs, but through one of the chinks
where there once had shone stars a great shaft from the sun poured its
warm, dazzling light full in my eyes. Next, though not so much as a leaf
was astir, I felt the touch of a breeze and, turning my head, saw a
vast, moving car flopping first up and then down! And under that ear was
a face wearing a most mischievous smile.

“‘Why—Why—it’s morning!’ I cried, springing up. ‘But where is the tent!
And the clowns!’

“‘Morning, sure enough,’ answered Gray Ears, as he ponderously rose to
his feet. ‘As for tents and clowns and all that sort of thing, I’m sure
I’ve seen none, though I must say you were making fuss enough just
before you waked up to have been playing hide-and-go-seek with all in
existence. But tell me what it all was about.’

“And so, as we busied ourselves gathering berries and green grass for
breakfast, I related the whole of my dream.

“‘Now, really,’ I questioned in ending, ‘are there that many clowns with
the Very Biggest Circus?’

“‘Goodness, no,’ laughed Gray Ears. ‘Still, there are many—two score and
more.’

“‘Alas, then,’ I sighed, ‘they will not need Diggeldy Dan.’

“‘Nevertheless they will keep you,’ answered my friend, as we sat down
to our meal, ‘and for this reason: as you of course know, I am a runaway
from the Very Biggest Circus, and one of its very great features. Now,
while I said nothing at the time, I came upon this placard tacked to a
tree while you were examining the circus grounds at the edge of the town
last night.’

“And with that Gray Ears produced a square of bright yellow cardboard
with these words in tall type printed on it:

                                  LOST
                        Gray Ears, The Elephant
                           Large and Suitable
                           Reward if Returned
                                   to
                        The Very Biggest Circus

“‘Goodness,’ I cried at the sight of it, ‘we must be careful else some
one will capture you and take you back home before you are ready to go!’

“‘Careful, bosh,’ retorted Gray Ears. ‘Why begin being careful when I am
already captured?’

“‘Already captured!’ I exclaimed in amazement. ‘By whom?’

“‘Why,’ said he, ‘by none other than Diggeldy Dan.’

“‘But I don’t understand,’ I began. ‘You mean—’

“‘That you are to take me back to the Very Biggest Circus and claim the
reward—the reward of being allowed to be one of its clowns. So come now,
make haste and let us break camp. For we must be ready to enter the big
tent to-night and between now and then we have a long way to go.’”




                               CHAPTER XV
            IN WHICH DAN AND GRAY EARS ARRIVE AT THEIR GOAL


 “Some day I may relate the happenings that fell to our lot between the
heart of the woods and the great river’s edge,” continued Diggeldy Dan.
“But I fancy you are just now most impatient to learn exactly what came
to pass when Gray Ears and I reached our long journey’s end. So, suppose
we all shut our eyes very tight, give a marvelous jump and, thus leaving
the point where breakfast was had, land plump on the spot from whence I
got my first glimpse of the tents that were to be my new home.

“The day was most done when, forcing his way through a thicket, Gray
Ears emerged on a grass-covered ridge that reclined with its head in the
woods and its feet at the brim of a river. The stream wound to the north
and to the south, while just across it—and so very near the bank that
one wondered the buildings did not tumble into the water—lay a city. And
within the city—close by the edge that was nearest us—sprawled a great,
billowing something of dazzling white. This something swayed gently in
the sun’s lowering rays or waved to the breeze with its pennants and
flags of yellow and blue. Yes, there it lay, quite as if it awaited our
coming—the home of the biggest circus of all.

“‘And to-night, when darkness has come, we shall both cross the river
and so reach the very rear of the tents,’ said Gray Ears, as his eyes
followed mine over the face of the stream.

“‘Is it there we will cross?’ I asked, as I pointed toward a massive
iron bridge.

“‘What! And meet no end of persons and things! Certainly not. I have a
far better way. But we must bide our time and meanwhile gather a supply
of long, trailing vines, the purpose of which you will learn later on.’

“So the last hour of the day was spent in searching the woods for vine
branches, being careful to select only those that were well strung with
leaves. By the time we had completed this task and returned to the
ridge, darkness had fallen and the lights been set twinkling in the city
and tents that lay over the stream.

“‘Now all is ready,’ said Gray Ears. And bidding me take the mass of
vines in my arms, he put his trunk about my waist and lifted me—not to
my place on his foot—but to the very tip-top of his head. And as I knelt
there, with the vines between my knees and my hands clasping fast to the
upper edge of his ears, the big fellow swung straight down the slope and
walked smack into the river!

“So carefully did Gray Ears advance that his great feet made hardly a
splash. I could hear only a soft, gurgling sound that came from where
the current, suddenly meeting the side of what it probably mistook for a
queer-fashioned rock, protested in some little surprise before slipping
around the ends of it. Finally even this murmuring ceased. All movement
seemed stilled. Looking about I saw that the whole of Gray Ears—not
counting the top of his head and a part of his trunk—had become
submerged in the depths of the stream. And so, while I perched in my
place—quite as though I were voyaging on the back of a turtle—Gray Ears
swam on.

“All went as it should until we reached the very middle of the river.
Then a rowboat suddenly shot into view from the lee of a low, wooded
island. Two men were in it—one at the oars and the other idly dangling a
lantern from his place in the bow. It was headed straight for us. Even
as I looked, the rays of the light fell full on my face. I quickly
crouched down, but not before the man in the bow had caught sight of me.

“‘A clown! A clown! A sure-enough clown!’ cried he to the one at the
oars. ‘Pull to just a bit. There! No, I have lost him.’ And he began to
cast about with the lantern.

“Meanwhile I felt the tip of Gray Ears’ trunk pressed close to the side
of my head. Grasping the end of it, I held it up to my ear while through
it came a whisper in warning:

“‘Quick! Down on your knees—with one arm thrust in the air. We must
escape them and their questions, for we cannot afford the delay!’

“Even as I obeyed I could feel the great trunk winding in and about me,
and knew that Gray Ears was wrapping me round with the trailing ends of
the vines!

“Meanwhile the man with the lantern was pointing it this way and that,
while his companion kept insisting that he had seen nothing at all.

“‘But I did,’ he protested. ‘I saw the whole of his round, funny face
and, believe it or not, he was sliding along on the top of the water.’

“At this reply the one who was rowing almost tumbled over with laughter.
In doing so he loosed his hold on the oars so that the boat swung about
and so almost bumped into Gray Ears and me.

“‘There goes an old log with a broken-off limb all covered with
vines—how would it do for your clown who sits on the water?’ jeered the
doubting one. And, he still poking fun and the other still looking, the
two of them passed on, while we again took to our course, to finally
land on the coveted shore.

“We found ourselves standing in what seemed to be a yard of considerable
size and skirted on all but the river’s side by a very tall fence. To
the right and the left were gigantic bunkers piled high with coal.
Between these we advanced, but had gone scarcely three paces when we
came face to face with a big, bearded watchman who carried a glaring
white light in one of his hands and a knotted, black stick in the other.

“‘Hey, there!’ he cried. ‘You can’t come in here. It’s ’gainst the
rules.’

“‘But, sir, we must do so,’ I pleaded. ‘We’ve just got to go on.’

“‘Got to nuthin’,’ retorted the man. ‘There’s orders writ plain as
paint. Now you two gwan right back into the river.’

“And he turned his light on a huge board of white on which there
appeared in very black letters:

                                 NOTICE

           All Persons Are Warned to Keep Off These Premises

“‘Yes,’ I cried, ‘but that can’t possibly mean us because we’re not
persons but just Gray Ears and Diggeldy Dan.’

“‘Not persons, eh,’ repeated the watchman as he scratched his head,
‘Well, now, I don’t know about that—’

“‘Besides,’ rumbled Gray Ears, ‘you see the—’

“And he placed the nose of his trunk near the big watchman’s ear and
whispered something I couldn’t quite hear.

“‘Oh!’ came the reply, ‘Oh, in that case—of course. Why in the world
didn’t you say so at first!’

“While to my utter surprise, he hurried to the gates that led to the
street, unfastened the lock and threw them apart with so much of a
flourish that one might have supposed us a prince and his train.

“Through the opening strode Gray Ears and we were once more on our way.
Long rows of warehouses as dark and as silent as the depths of the night
now shut the Very Biggest Circus from view. But over the edge of their
frowning black tops a warm, yellow glow lighted the face of the sky. And
we knew that this came from the tents for which we were bound.

“Up street and down street the two of us went, meeting no one at all.
And then, of a sudden, our path was beset by a burly policeman who
seemed not one whit less than a whole half-mile tall. There he
stood—twirling his moustache and his round, polished club, and whistling
a tune from over the seas. But at sight of us he shut his lips with a
start, brought his club to his side and, raising one hand, signaled an
immediate halt.

“‘Stop!’ he commanded. ‘You cannot come down this street.’

“But Oh!—Mr. Policeman, we just have to,” I cried.

“‘Sorry, but this is a one way thoroughfare. Vehicles can’t move in the
direction you are going. You’ll have to turn back.’

“‘Yes,’ argued I, ‘but Gray Ears isn’t a vehicle—he’s only an elephant.’

“‘Makes no difference,’ answered the policeman. ‘Orders are orders and
no exceptions made.’

“And with that he began to twirl his club once again and to parade back
and forth as if to guard the whole width of the street.

“‘But, you see, Mr. Blue-Coat,’ began Gray Ears. And he finished the
sentence in a whisper with his trunk against the other’s right ear.

“‘O—o—oh!’ exclaimed the policeman. ‘Oh—why, go right ahead. Oh, I’m
sorry to have delayed you.’

“While he actually stood at salute as we once more moved on our way!
Determining to ask my companion very soon what it was he had said to the
watchman and to the one in buttons and blue, I held fast to the big
fellow’s ears and, peering ahead, awaited a glimpse of the tents. Then,
turning a corner, we came into a street and there—away at the foot of
it—lay the goal that we sought, all flooded with lights of amber and
gold.

“At sight of the tents Gray Ears came to a stop in the shelter of a
well-shadowed wall and, placing his trunk round my waist, lifted me from
his head to the ground.

“‘Here, Friend Dan, we find ourselves at our journey’s end. A minute
more and we shall have entered the great tent and you claimed the reward
of finding and returning Gray Ears, the Elephant. It is then that you
will take your place among the clowns and I go back to my station. We
have had our holiday together and a right merry one it has been. Who
knows—perhaps we shall one day repeat it again. In the meantime do not
be surprised if I cease speaking to you. For, unless I am away from the
circus, I rarely talk to anyone. Indeed you might spend months upon
months with the Very Biggest Circus and yet never hear one of its
animals utter so much as a word.

“‘And now,’ he added, in that business-like tone which he assumed at
times, ‘let us decide upon the manner in which we will enter the
greatest tent. First of all we will arrange the placard that I found
tacked to the tree and which I believe you have in the top of your hat.
Here is a stick of charcoal which I picked up in the coal yard as we
passed through the gates. On the side of the card that is blank you must
write in a very bold hand:

                                 FOUND

                            By Diggeldy Dan

“Taking the marker I did as he wished.

“‘Excellent,’ approved Gray Ears. ‘This I will take charge of and
display in proper fashion when we make our grand entrance. You, on your
part, will stand on my back. Now then—up you go!’

“And with that I was swung into place. Next, Gray Ears wrapped the long,
leaf-covered streamers around his neck and looped one of them well into
his mouth quite as a horse wears a bridle and bit. Then he tossed me the
ends which I wound around my wrists just as you have seen the driver of
many horses do with the ends of his reins. Next I sprang upright on Gray
Ears’ broad back. There I stood, feet apart, my head held erect, leaning
backward and aslant, but kept well in place by the vine-reins that led
from my ponderous mount’s mouth.

“‘Are you ready, Friend Dan?’ came the rumbling cry.

“‘Every bit of me,’ I called in reply.

“Then, not answering in words but with a trumpeted note of much triumph,
Gray Ears moved forward while I, my suit flapping in the breeze brought
about by his speed, lay back on the reins much as the driver of a
thundering chariot rests upon his, and wondered and waited and watched.”




                              CHAPTER XVI
               IN WHICH DAN JOINS THE VERY BIGGEST CIRCUS


 “Never had Gray Ears taken such stupendous strides,” said Diggeldy Dan,
as he once more went on with his story. “So fast did he move that in
less than a minute we had reached the edge of the light that spread like
a fan round the tents. And then we plunged into the midst of it to find
ourselves in the very back yard of the circus.

“Through the maze of red wagons the two of us went, past little white
tents that shimmered with light, and next—in much slower and more
methodical fashion—picked our way through the groups of playful, plumed
ponies, each decked with trappings that shone like the stars. Past these
went the both of us—past these and strange men and strange women, too,
all dressed in gay costumes of every color and hue. But at sight of the
latter, Gray Ears warned me to drop down on his back and hide quickly
away in the long, winding vines. And when I had done so—without once
being seen—he headed straight for the rear of the greatest of tents,
from whence came the sound of the circus.

“How it fell on the air and fell on the ear—a mingling of music and the
hum of the crowd, blended with hoof-beats and laughter! Now naught save
a curtain divided us from the all of it, and this Gray Ears thrust back
with a swing of his trunk. And then, in the space of much less than a
wink, what wonders came into view!

“There were people to the left of us, people to the right of us, and
still more across from us, all terraced in masses around a tent so
tremendous that its far ends were lost in a shadowy haze. There were
pretty ladies to the left of us, pretty ladies to the right of us, and
pretty ladies in front of us, all mounted on horses that ran round the
rings. There was a ringmaster to the left of us, another to the right of
us, and a third just before us, each arrayed in the latest of
fashionable dress. And, high up above us, were splashes of red and
dashes of blue that were reflected from the sides of the massive round
poles that held the huge tent in its place. There was the sheen of the
sawdust and the gray of the roof; the clusters of golden lights that
flooded the air and flooded the ground, and the clusters of silver
lights over the rings at the ends that looked in the distance like bits
of the moon.

“And into the midst of this hoopla and whirl, into the heart of the Very
Biggest Circus stepped Gray Ears, with me hidden away on his back. So
quickly, indeed, had he come through the doorway that those in the rings
and those in the crowd did not know of his presence until he was well
into the tent. And then he was discovered from all sides at once.

“‘Hey, lookit! Hey, lookit!’ cried those to the left and those to the
right.

“‘Well, of all unheard-of things!’ the pretty ladies exclaimed as they
brought their mounts to a halt.

“‘Now tell us at once,’ the three ringmasters demanded, each stamping
his foot as if to resent it, ‘what’s the meaning of this strange
interruption!’

“‘Yes, do so, right now!’ every fair rider protested as she gave a toss
of her head to prove that she meant it.

“But for answer Gray Ears merely kept on his way, down the track that
circled the tent. Still onward he went around the most distant ring—one
of those with the cluster of silvery lights that looked like bits of the
moon. And trailing behind in most persistent fashion came the trio of
ringmasters all talking at once and urging that Gray Ears begone to his
station.

“Yet never a sound did the big fellow utter until he had reached the
ring in the center.

“‘Cling fast and be ready,’ then came his command as the end of his
trunk brushed the vines near my ear. And kneeling and holding the
placard on high, he gravely bowed to the crowd and bowed to the riders
and bowed to the ringmasters three.

“‘Found!’ they all cried as they read the words I had written, ‘Found by
Diggeldy Dan!’

“‘But who,’ puzzled all in the very next breath, ‘is this one called
Diggeldy Dan?’

“‘And where may he be?’ questioned the ringmasters three, as they all
cracked their whips for attention.

                              “‘Yes—
                                  where—
                                    is—
                                      he?’

demanded four separate voices, each of the four of them supplying a
word. While into the ring stepped the men who had spoken, all wearing
black suits and high hats of silk and mustaches as dark as the tips of
their boots.

“‘We,’ said the first.

“‘Will,’ added the second.

“‘Reward,’ spoke the third.

“‘Him,’ finished the fourth.

“And each drew a purse from his pocket.

“At the very same moment Gray Ears put down the card and, lifting both
me and the vines from his back laid the queer-looking bundle at the feet
of the four. No sooner had he done so than I thrust the branches aside,
jumped to my toes and bowed low to those at whose feet I’d been placed.

                               “‘Who—
                                  may—
                                   you—
                                    be?’

exclaimed the four in surprise.

“‘Why, the one who found Gray Ears,’ I cried in reply, ‘none other than
Diggeldy Dan!’

“Now at the sight of my face and my polka-dot suit and the sound of my
ting-a-ling name, all the children immediately rose in their seats and
began to shout and to sing:

               “‘O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
               O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan:
               Do play some pranks for us, Diggeldy Dan!’

“But at this the four frowned and held up four separate hands, whereat
the three ringmasters again cracked their whips and called for all to be
silent. And then the four opened their purses.

“‘No! No! Not a penny!’ cried I, as I watched them, ‘for it’s not that
kind of a reward that I’d like best to request.’

“‘Ah, ha!’ said the first.

“‘Oh, ho!’ winked the second.

“‘What then?’ queried the third.

“‘Is your wish?’ asked the last.

“‘Just to stay with you always,’ I answered the four of them, ‘to be one
of your clowns, to cut pranks for the children, and sometimes see Gray
Ears, the Elephant.’

“‘Granted most gladly,’ each and all of them cried, while the children
added their welcome; ‘this very night you shall take your place with the
rest, so make ready at once to join with them.’

“I answered this speech with another low bow and then skipped to where
Gray Ears was standing. At a nod of his head I mounted his foot and held
fast to his knee while, amid shouts of delight from the children, the
big fellow set off in very grand style toward his home in the menagerie
tent.

“‘Gray Ears,’ I questioned, as we came almost to it, ‘now do tell me
what it was you said to the watchman and what it was you whispered in
the policeman’s right ear?’

“‘Why,’ began he, ‘But see what is happening! There! On down the tent!’

“What I saw as I looked was whole dozens of clowns pouring in through
the curtain we had passed when we came. Peal after peal of merriest
laughter attended the sight of them. But amid it and the music we could
hear voices calling:

                    “‘O, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
                    Where’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan?’

“‘What I whispered,’ said Gray Ears, again answering my question, ‘was
simply, “The children are waiting for us.” And, from the sound of the
shouts that are now greeting our ears, I think I wasn’t far wrong. So go
now; go to those who are calling your name.’

“As he finished he gave me a gentle shove with his trunk and turned to
go into the menagerie tent, while I skipped gayly away to join the rest
of the clowns.

“And with that,” ended Dan, “you have heard the whole of my story.”

“Did Gray Ears ever run away any more?” asked Camel.

“Time’s up! Time’s up” called Hippo, who had on this day been placed in
charge of the Watch.

“Away to your places, then,” ordered Diggeldy Dan, “and to-morrow we’ll
meet once again. For though my tale’s at an end, we may safely depend
that another will soon follow after.”




                              CHAPTER XVII
          IN WHICH THE ANIMALS ENTERTAIN AN UNEXPECTED CALLER


 In Spangleland’s realm are many massive blue poles, and among the
biggest of these are those that stand in the center of the menagerie
tent. Between the bases of two of them is a broad, open space, and it
was here all the animals were gathered at twilight on the day following
that upon which had ended the tale of Gray Ears, the Elephant.

“And I’m sure all remember your very last words,” Lion was saying to
Diggeldy Dan. “As I recall them they ran something like this: ‘For
though my tale’s at an end we may safely depend that another will soon
follow after.’”

“Exactly,” said Dan. “And now comes the question as to who’s to provide
the next story.”

But, to the clown’s great surprise, not a single animal made answer.

“My goodness!” he cried, as he swung around on Hippo’s vast back the
better to be able to face them, “do you mean to say that not one of you
has thought of a story? Why, Mr. President, I am indeed astounded! I—”

“Aw, now, Dan, don’t be talking like that,” protested Monkey. “I know a
lot of stories only I just can’t remember one right now.”

“And those I know are all so very old,” pleaded Great White Bear, while
all the rest seemed ready to excuse themselves on much the same score.

“Well,” said Lion, “in view of all this, there seems to be but one thing
to do and that is to put on our thinking caps and not take them off
until each has thought of a story. So let us get down to business at
once. Tiger, you will kindly come forward and stretch yourself on the
ground. There—that is the way. Now, then, do you slowly wave your tail
from one side to the other. Exactly. You, Dan, will keep count of the
tail-waves until you have recorded exactly one hundred. And until that
number is reached there’s not to be a word from a one of you. Instead,
you are to keep silent and think. All ready now—go!”

At this word of command Tiger’s tail began to rise and to fall and Dan’s
head to nod down and then up as he kept exact track of the waves of it.
Quite at the same time all the others solemnly puckered their brows,
half closed their eyes, or pillowed their chins as folks always do when
they engage in deep thought.

Time passed.

Tiger’s tail floated up and down through the air.

Dan’s head continued to bob and to count.

Lion gazed about with so severe an eye that hardly an animal dared
breathe. Not a sound broke the silence. And then, of a sudden—!

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Now the taps were not specially loud and, aside from that fact, there
is, as a rule, nothing particularly unusual about an innocent tap, nor,
for that matter, about two nor yet three of them.

But, in this case, you see—everything was so very still with even Monkey
not so much as uttering a sound, that——

Tap! Tap! Tap!

There it was again!

And, oddest of all, it seemed to come from a point high over their
heads.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

And at this you may be sure the business of thinking of stories was
entirely forgotten. Instead, every ear was alert. It now seemed certain
that the taps had come from the top of the biggest blue pole.

“Ahoy, whoever you are—what is it you want?” called Lion, as he directed
his eyes and his voice toward that point in the roof where the pole
passed through to the skies.

Tap! Tap! Tap! came the answer.

“Come in!” roared Lion, “Come in at once, whatever you are and wherever
you are!”

“Let me skip up the side of the pole and see just what it can be,” cried
Monkey.

But just at that moment there came a muffled voice from the roof—a voice
that was something between a caw and a croak.

“Menagerie tent, Spangleland?” it called down.

“Yes, Mr. Voice, you are in Spangleland and this is the menagerie tent,”
answered Lion. “And now if you will be so good as to come out of
hiding—”

But even while Lion was speaking a movement was seen and with it
appeared two very black feet. These were followed by the under side of
an even blacker body; with a long, pointed beak coming after. And thus,
bit by bit, there gradually emerged the whole of a crow of quite
remarkable size.

Now those who gazed upward at this strange visitor were immediately
struck by three most unusual things. In the first place their caller’s
head was almost wholly concealed by a messenger’s cap that was much too
large for him. Secondly, he walked down the side of the pole when to
have flown would have been a far simpler way. And, thirdly, instead of
showing some interest in his surroundings as he entered, he preferred to
bury his nose in the crook of what must have been a most entertaining
book. Indeed he did not once look up until he had set his feet on the
ground. And then it was to find himself surrounded by all the animals.

“Lion, Lion—Mister Lion,” he inquired rather briskly as he tucked his
book under one wing and scanned the many faces.

“At your service,” responded Lion as he stepped forward.

“Yes, sir, yes, sir—Message for you, sir,” and removing his cap with
something of a flourish, the crow took a bit of folded paper from out
the crown of it.

“Well, well!” exclaimed Lion as he opened the missive and glanced at its
contents, “though addressed in my care it’s really for all of us.”

“Yes, but what is it?” cried the animals.

“Why, a message from the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes. Here is
what she says:

  “‘Care of Lion,
      “‘Menagerie Tent, Spangleland:

  “‘I and my White-White Horse will be quite near you at half-past
  twilight on the morrow. So please be at home, for it is very likely
  we will pay you a visit.

                                                  “‘The Pretty Lady.’”

“Oh, hurrah, hurrah!” shouted all the animals in one breath while Dan
clapped his hands with much glee.

“You are, indeed, a most welcome messenger,” remarked Lion, as he turned
to where the crow had been standing. But, to his surprise, the somber
chap in the cap was no longer there. Instead, he had perched himself on
a wheel of Giraffe’s spacious home. Yes, there he sat, once more reading
his book, and, in addition, was now slowly munching an apple.

“I say,” repeated Lion, “a most welcome messenger.” And this time he
laid so much stress on the very last word that the crow jumped from the
wheel in the greatest of haste.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” he answered as he vainly tried to stuff both the
book and the apple under one wing. “Calling a messenger, were you, sir?”

At which all the animals laughed so heartily that the crow looked quite
confused and muttered something about “time to be going.”

“But not unless you are entirely ready to leave,” remonstrated Lion,
“for I assure you that you are quite welcome to remain and finish your
apple and your book, also, if you choose. You flew all the way from
Sunset House, I presume?”

“Well, I should rather say not!” answered the crow, as he flipped his
cap to one side with the toes of one foot. “What would be the fun of
being a messenger-bird if one had to fly all the time?”

“Yes, but how do you manage it other-wise?” questioned Rhino.

“Why, jump a cloud and ride it. That’s the way I most always do. Just
let my feet hang over the end and read my book until it’s time to hop
off.”

“Of what do you read?” asked Lion.

“Oh, it’s one of those strange-people books,” answered the crow. “I like
to read about people. They do such funny things, don’t they? Well, I
must be getting up in the air and looking for a cloud that is going
toward the west.” And he started hopping up the side of the very biggest
pole.

“Please don’t go,” coaxed Ostrich. “Stay a while longer and tell us
about the clouds. You have ridden a lot of them, haven’t you?”

“Oh, I guess a million trillion of them, at least,” said the crow in a
superior sort of way. “But then I wouldn’t know what to tell you about
them. You should ask the Pretty Lady if you want to know about clouds.
She knows stories about most everything. Besides, I can’t spare the time
just now.”

And with his beak once more buried in his book the bird from the west
moved slowly upward toward the roof to finally disappear at that point
where the pole passed through to the skies.

“What an odd individual,” said Puma. “I wish he had talked more. I
warrant he could tell a lot of fine stories.”

“And we didn’t even learn his name!” exclaimed Emu.

“We must ask the Pretty Lady about him,” said Lion.

“Isn’t it fine that she’s coming to-morrow,” cried Zebra. “Perhaps she
will tell us another story.”

“No doubt she will,” put in Diggeldy Dan. “But now our twilight’s last
moments have come so we will bid one another farewell till to-morrow.
And at the sign of the Petal Watch we will gather again to be ready to
greet our golden-haired guest when she comes with her prancing steed
from out of the west.”




                             CHAPTER XVIII
 IN WHICH THE PRETTY LADY CARRIES A PASSENGER INTO THE WIDE WIDE WORLD


 “Come come, now!” cried Lion, as he hurried about with all the bustle
and importance of the grand marshal of some holiday parade, “into line
with you! No, no; not that way—in two lines. Just as we do when we play
at London Bridge. There! That’s more like it.”

It was on the evening following that which had brought the message from
the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes and the great menagerie tent was
agog with excitement. Under the guidance of Lion all the animals of
Spangleland were placing themselves in a manner befitting the approach
of the expected guest. Thus the greater part of them were arranged in
two long, parallel rows; though there were others who grouped themselves
at the head and the foot of the line. These included Giraffe and his
family who were stationed at the top; Monkey and his folks who stood at
the end of it; and—Diggeldy Dan.

Meantime Lion continued to give instructions, and just as he had
finished there came the sound of a neigh through the twilight, followed
by a silvery laugh of a voice well remembered. Next the canvas wall gave
a billowing bulge and then opened and closed quite like the curtains in
a Punch and Judy theater. And there, standing before them, was the
White-White Horse carrying the one for whom they all waited.

“Why, what an attractive formation!” the Pretty Lady exclaimed, as the
sweep of her blue eyes took in all the groupings. “Is it some new kind
of a game?”

But not a single animal made answer.

“What! No reply?” she went on in surprise. “Can it be the kittens have
gotten your tongues? But no—there must be some other reason: for surely
there is the tip of something quite pink peeping from between Tiger’s
sharp teeth. Yes—now all becomes clear. How stupid of me not to have
noticed before! For look you, my White-White Horse, these are not
sure-enough animals, but just makebelieve ones, all stuffed with straw
and sawdust and things. So come—let us go.” And she made as if to turn
back.

But at this Giraffe gave a vigorous shake of his head.

“Oh—ho!” cried the Lady, “so you actually can move, after all! But why
do you and your family stand at the head of the line?”

In answer Giraffe took a bit of chalk in his mouth and, using Hippo’s
broad back for a board, scrawled, “Reception Committee.” And then
stepping forward, he made an extremely low bow.

“While I am its chairman,” Lion announced.

“Ah, ha! Now I see!” the Lady replied; as she advanced at a prance on
the White-White Horse. “But you?” she inquired, with a nod to the left
and a nod to the right toward those drawn up in two rows.

“We?” they all chorused. “Oh, we are the audience. We—”

“Pretty Lady! Pretty Lady!” called Monkey from his place at the end,
“don’t be talking just to the audience. Please ask us what we are.”

“And what, indeed, may you be?” the Lady laughed back.

“Why, we are the grooms for the White-White Horse,” answered the
merry-eyed fellow as he proceeded to take charge of her mount.

Then, escorted by Lion and Dan—with Giraffe and his folks filing in
close behind—the Lady was led to a gayly striped tub. Once enthroned on
the top of it she again looked about to find all the “audience” in a
halfcircle before her. At the very same moment they gave three ringing
cheers and then took their seats, from which they gazed at their visitor
in rapt expectation.

“Well, well; and now that is over with, What comes next?” asked she,
from her place on the tub.

“Why, a story, of course,” they all cried, quite as if nothing else
could possibly follow. “See, we are waiting for you to begin.”

“But,” protested the Lady, “I’d much rather listen. I’m sure that would
prove whole heaps more fun. Indeed, I insist. So, Lion, suppose you
select the one who’s to tell us the tale.” And she clapped her hands at
the thought of it.

But, alas, Lion could but gaze at his fellows and then back at the Lady
in silent confusion.

“To tell the truth, Pretty Lady,” he finally replied, “none of us know
any very good stories. Only last evening we tried but couldn’t think—not
even of one. Of course, Dan has many wonderful tales; but then he has
been out in the great, wide world.”

“Oh, dear,” broke in Kangaroo in a most wistful tone, “if we could only
do things like Gray Ears and Dan!”

“If we only could!” exclaimed Tiger, “then we, too, would have stories
to tell.”

“Yes,” the Pretty Lady said, nodding her head and speaking very
thoughtfully, “yes, that is true.” And then silence fell on the group. A
moment later, and as if to herself, she added, “Why, why not? Yes, it
could be done. I can arrange to take them and then bring them back.”

“What is it you are saying?” asked Lion.

“Just this,” answered their guest as she leaped to her feet. “I was
wondering how I might help you all to find stories. Now of course the
most natural way is to have you meet with adventure.”

“But where?” asked Zebra.

“Out in the great world, to be sure. Indeed there is no reason at all
why I should not carry one of you off with me this very evening.”

“Oh, let me go! Let me go!” cried Monkey, dancing up and down.

“Be silent, sir,” Lion commanded. “Perhaps, Pretty Lady, you will
propose the one who will be the first to accompany you.”

“But would not the drawing of lots be a much happier way?”

“Draw lots, to be sure!” they all echoed, in answer.

“I’ll attend to the details,” volunteered Diggeldy Dan. And gathering an
armful of sweet-smelling hay, he dashed out of sight behind Giraffe’s
gilded home. Soon he returned with a bundle of straws protruding from
his tightly clasped hands. Now the tops held to view were as evenly
matched as the straws in a very new broom; while the opposite ends were
completely concealed by the cuffs of Dan’s baggy white sleeves.

“Here,” announced he, “are the same number of straws as there are
animals gathered together. But no two straws are of quite the same
length. So—”

“The one drawing the longest of all in the bundle will this very night
go in quest of a story,” finished the Lady with a nod of approval.

“Exactly,” agreed Dan.

“Splendid,” added Lion. And, as President of Animals, he drew the first
one.

“As fast as you draw them, you must file past my seat and lay all the
straws on the top of the tub,” the Pretty Lady instructed. “Thus we will
find who is possessed of the longest.”

So forward they went and, as you may well believe, with no end of eager
wonderment. Meanwhile the Lady added zest to the fun by telling off the
lots as they reached her.

“Your straw is the longest,” she would call as they passed—“No! No!
Here’s one longer—My, what a short one!—Why, who could have drawn
it?—Surely not Elephant!—Now Hippo is favored and Giraffe has been
bested—But just for the moment for now I’ve another that’s quite the
longest drawn yet.”

And so, the Lady comparing all the straws laid before her, the last of
the animals finally moved down the tent and then, doubling back,
returned with all speed to their places. Every straw being drawn, Dan
joined the Lady and the two of them consulted for a moment together.

“Yes, his is the longest—easily the longest,” the animals overheard the
two judges agree; and every ear did its best to catch the sound of a
name. Then, with the longest straw held far aloft, the Pretty Lady
skipped straight to where all the bruins were grouped and touched one on
the head with the tip of her whip.

“Little Black Bear!” rose the cry from all sides. For it was he, you
see, who’d been chosen.

Now for a moment Little Black Bear was so taken back that he could do
naught but wrinkle and unwrinkle the end of his nose. And when he
finally found his voice there was so much commotion that no one heard
what he said.

“Hurry, hurry!” the Pretty Lady was crying, “for we must be well out of
Spangleland before the Petal Watch closes. Lively, now, Monkey, and
bring me my White-White Horse. Come Sir Adventurer, and let Elephant
help you to a seat just behind me.”

“With the greatest of pleasure,” cried Elephant, as he wound his great
trunk around Little Bear’s back and lifted him into his place.

“Hold tight to my waist,” the Lady directed. “All ready, now—”

“Wait, wait!” cried Hippo, “why we are sending Little Black Bear away
without any lunch!”

“Goodness, so we are!” Lion exclaimed. “Be quick, some of you and see
what can be got together.”

At this. word of command all scurried away in every direction and soon
there had been gathered two apples, three carrots, an orange, some
peanuts, and a taffy-on-the-stick. These were hastily placed in an old
paper bag that Dan dug from the depths of his pocket.

“Now at last we are off,” the Pretty Lady declared, as the bundle was
tucked under Black Bear’s free arm. “Farewell till the twilight shall
bring us back once again.” And away through the half-light the three of
them sped.

“A merry journey!” cried some, as they followed the departing ones on
down the tent.

“Be sure to get a good story,” called others.

“I will, I will!” came the answering cry, and with a neigh from the
Horse, a ringing laugh from the Lady and a last paw-wave from Little
Black Bear, the three travelers passed through a rift in the wall and
were swallowed by the gathering dusk.

“And now,” called out Dan, “it is high time that we, too, were fast
disappearing. So away every one of you and, until we gather once more,
there’s a treat in the thought of what a story’s in store.”




                              CHAPTER XIX
        IN WHICH LITTLE BLACK BEAR SPENDS A NIGHT IN THE FOREST


 Now when the White-White Horse disappeared through the dusk with the
Pretty Lady and Little Black Bear on his back, his feet seemed suddenly
shod with wings. Indeed, he traveled so very swiftly that, in telling of
it afterward, Little Black Bear was never quite certain that they had
not actually skimmed through the air. But—as he always added in
conclusion—whether they did or did not made no very great difference.
The important point was that even the wind could not have moved faster,
so that, in most no time at all, the three of them found themselves at
the edge of a very black, and very deep, and very great forest.

“What a wonderful place!” cried Little Black Bear. “Do let us go on into
the depths of it!”

“No,” answered the Lady, as she brought the White-White Horse to a halt.
“At least I may not go, for I have much else to do. But it is here that
you are to alight and set out in quest of your story.”

“Oh, that will be fine,” said Little Black Bear, as he prepared to climb
to the ground. And then, hesitating for a moment, he added, “But how am
I to get back to the menagerie tent?”

“Trust me for that,” the Lady replied, “for in due time I shall come to
you again and then the three of us will once more return to
Spangleland.”

And as her wiggley-nosed passenger scrambled down, the golden-haired one
bade him a merry farewell and was gone.

For a moment Little Black Bear stood looking after the fleeting forms
and then, turning his face toward the forest and tucking his lunch bag
more securely under one arm, he waddled into the deepening gloom as
quickly as his rather short legs would carry him.

“Why, it must be here that the circus gets all its poles,” he exclaimed,
as he looked about at the tremendously tall trees. “Goodness, the number
of them! And the size! There’s one that’s every bit as big around as
Hippo; and another that’s even larger than Elephant.” He recalled what
the crow in the messenger’s cap had said about a million trillion
clouds. “Yes,” he said, wagging his head rather wisely, “there must
easily be that many trees.”

So, talking to himself as he went, and picking his way around the ends
of gray, gnarled logs, Little Black Bear trudged deeper and deeper into
the forest. As he advanced the gloom changed to night, and, though the
traveler’s eyes were very bright and quite used to the dark, he finally
decided to find a resting place until morning.

Now, Little Black Bear had never spent a night in the woods but was, on
the contrary, accustomed to snuggling close in the straw on the floor of
a splendid red and gold cage. Still, he had often heard his elders tell
of the great wide world and he knew that hollow trees were supposed to
make ideal lodging places. So he immediately set about to find one. He
had not far to look, for very soon he came to a tree of unusual size and
there, in its base, was a most inviting black hole. Going up to it, he
found that the hole opened into a round room in the trunk. The floor of
the room was packed close with leaves that crackled under foot as their
visitor stepped over them.

“Why, I shall be most comfortable here,” cried Little Black Bear, “I had
no idea one could find such houses as this away in the depths of the
forest.”

In fact the discovery so delighted him that he began to sing the
merriest kind of a tune and, noting that the walls of the tree caused
his voice to seem much deeper than it really was, he sang the song all
over again. Next—because he loved to hear the leaves crinkle and
crunch—he broke into a jig and ended by rolling over and over on the
floor. But in doing this he all but crushed the paper bag which held his
lunch and that caused him to remember that perhaps he should dine before
going to bed. So, getting up, he went out into the open and sat down
with his back to the tree. Here he undid the bag and rummaged inside
with his paw. He was very much tempted to eat the taffy-on-the-stick but
finally decided on an apple. Munching upon this, he sat peering into the
night.

Here and there winged little spots of light glowed for a moment and then
were snuffed out again. They made Little Black Bear think of spangles.
They were about that size. He thought they might be the fireflies of
which he had heard. But, aside from the twinkle-dots, all was gloom
broken only by immense columns that were even blacker than the night
itself. And these Little Black Bear knew were the trunks of the great
trees that stood near his own. How big everything was. How cool and
sweet the air. How he wished all the other animals were with him. What a
story he would have to tell!

From away in the distance came a faint “hoot, hoot, hoot.” Out of nearby
trees dropped odd little sounds as though something were hopping about
on the branches. But by now he had disposed of his apple and so
carefully closing the paper bag, he rose to his feet and returned to the
room in the tree.

“Gracious,” he said, “why, it must be late as anything. I was never up
this long before in all my life. What a lark I am having—”

“I say, hush up, whoever you may be down below,” suddenly broke forth a
voice from somewhere outside and over his head. “First you rouse a body
with your singing, and now you insist upon talking to yourself.”

“Oh, please excuse me,” answered Little Black Bear, feeling very much
ashamed. “I really didn’t mean to disturb any one.”

“Well, it’s all right this time, only kindly don’t do it again.” Then,
after a pause, “Will you be with us long?”

“Well—er—that is—I really don’t know.”

“Family?” inquired the voice.

“Oh, no!” Little Black Bear hastened to reply, “I am quite alone. But
who are you, if I may ask?”

“Hey, there!” came an entirely new voice, this time from very high
overhead, “how long are you two going to keep folks awake with that
chattering!”

But neither Little Black Bear nor the one to whom he had been talking
answered so much as a word. Instead, silence now fell as deep as the
night that surrounded the tree. Little Black Bear hardly dared move for
fear the leaves might crackle and then, after a time—for he had already
become drowsy—he gradually forgot the strange voices that had come from
above, and slipped away into Slumberland.

Now whether it was this sound that awakened him, Little Black Bear had
no way of knowing, but, however that may have been the very first thing
that came to him when he again opened his eyes was the rhythm and ring
of an echoing hammer. He knew it was a hammer, for he had sometimes seen
the men of the circus at work on the cages. Indeed, as he lay there on
the warm bed of leaves, he could almost see the nails slowly sink into
place.

“Surely, now, some one must be building a house in the forest,” he said,
as he scrambled to his feet and went to the door of the tree. “Yes, and
it must be somewhere up the side of that slope.”

For, now that day had come, Little Black Bear could see that the tree in
which he had spent the night stood at the foot of what looked to be a
mountain—a mountain that was covered with trees quite as big as those
that grew at its base. So closely did these stand and so dense were
their boughs that it was only here and there that a bit of the sun found
its way through the leaves. Because of this, Little Black Bear was
reminded of the soft gray twilight-time that always brought Diggeldy Dan
to the menagerie tent.

There were birds of many kinds in many, many trees twittering and
teetering as if discussing their plans for the day. Their voices caused
Little Black Bear to remember the mysterious ones of the night. But he
soon dismissed them from mind, and turning his thoughts to peanuts and
carrots, sat down with the lunch bag between his knees and devoured a
most appetizing breakfast. Once more he was about to eat the
taffy-on-the-stick, but again decided to wait until later. As he
finished his last peanut, the pounding of the hammer sounded again and
then, a moment later, came the rising and falling “gr-r-r-rrr” of a saw.

“I have just got to find out what all that is about,” decided Little
Black Bear, as he folded his lunch bag. “Who knows? It may prove the
best kind of an adventure.”

And so, guided by the song of the saw, he started up the side of the
mountain. As he advanced the trees grew less dense and this made more
light. Long, dazzling beams that seemed to split into thousands of
glistening splinters came from the foliaged canopy that spread far
above. Great rocks began to appear. The grass grew more green. The
hammering was very near now. And then, reaching the edge of what proved
to be a broad clearing, Little Black Bear came in sight of a scene that
caused him to halt in amazement.

Spread out before him was a sort of niche in the mountain with a floor
as wide as the menagerie tent, fully as smooth and almost as long. At
the back of the niche and framed by jaggedy rocks were two wooden doors
made of small trunks of trees bound tightly together with bolts and with
bars. Both these doors were closed as if shutting the mouth of a cave.

But it was what occupied the center of the clearing that held the
fascinated attention of Little Black Bear. Here was a wide-spreading
tree and under its shade an enormously long work-bench surrounded by
whole drifts of curlycue shavings. The bench was fitted with a vise with
wide wooden jaws, while its face was covered with many strange tools.
Just in front of the bench and half in the sunlight were two massive
sawhorses that supported an oddly shaped frame. And, bending over these,
a cap on his head and a carpenter’s apron tied round his waist was a
shaggy coated bruin of marvelous size.

Now, of course, Little Black Bear took in the entire scene in a whole
lot less time than it has taken to tell of it. Indeed, by now he had
softly lifted himself to the top of a rock that he might obtain a still
better view. Then, just as he had done so, and without the least sign of
warning, the rock rolled away with a crash, and the next moment he lay
sprawling in the clearing not a half-dozen steps from the bear in the
cap and the apron!




                               CHAPTER XX
         IN WHICH LITTLE BLACK BEAR MEETS SHAGG, THE CARPENTER


 Now, usually the very first thing one does after taking a tumble is to
scramble up again. And that is exactly what Little Black Bear was of a
mind to do when the rock on which he was standing turned over and he
suddenly found himself sprawling almost at the feet of the great bear
who was at work in the clearing. But he did not recover himself before
the one with the hammer had taken full account of his plight.

“Tacks, jackplanes and drawshaves, and what is all this!” roared that
ponderous party, as he put his arms akimbo and gazed in astonishment at
the mass of curly black hair that lay there before him.

“Why—why, it’s just me come to call,” sputtered Little Black Bear, as he
winked and blinked from his place on the ground.

“That’s quite plain to see,” the other agreed, in a voice that resembled
nothing so much as thunder. “But gluepots and gimlets, what is the
notion of prostrating yourself in this humble fashion. For I assure you
that I am neither a prince nor a king but merely a hard-working
carpenter.”

“Oh, that—,” Little Bear repeated as he finally got to his feet, “Oh,
that wasn’t my notion, sir; it was just the rock’s. You see it kind of
rolled out from under me.” And he explained the happening in so droll a
manner that the big bear laughed so loud and so long that the forest
fairly echoed in answer.

“There, there, forgive me,” he finally said, as he wiped the tears from
his eyes with the top of his cap, “but you surely cut a most comical
figure. And now, though it may be none of my affair, let me ask just
what it is that has brought you.”

Thus encouraged, Little Black Bear told his story as to just who he was,
whence he had come, and what it was that he sought.

“Well, well, now that is indeed interesting,” the other exclaimed. “My
name’s Shagg—Shagg, the Carpenter—and I’ll be glad to help in any way I
can.” With that he extended a paw, the two shook hands and then, at
Shagg’s suggestion, they sat down at the foot of the tree that stood
near the bench.

“So you are a circus bear. My, what a lot of wonderful places you must
get to see. I’ve often thought it would be splendid to leave the forest
and travel into the world. But then there is Mrs. Shagg. And there are
the things to be built.”

“Why, I should think this would be the jolliest kind of a place,”
rejoined Little Black Bear. “I can’t imagine anything quite as
interesting as building things. Have you always been a carpenter?”

“Ever since I was old enough to handle a saw and a hammer,” answered
Shagg. “You see carpentering, and especially chair-making, has been the
family trade for quite a long time; in fact, ever since the days of the
Three Bears.”

“The three bears,” said the other. “The three bears—why, you surely
don’t mean the very Three Bears!”

“To be sure,” answered Shagg. “What is so unusual about that?”

“But there’s been books and stories and everything written about them!”
cried Little Black Bear in rapt admiration, “about them and Goldilocks,
you know.”

“Goldilocks—hum—Goldilocks,” mused Shagg. “What a piece of good fortune
came to our family when she broke those beds and chairs. For—so the
family tradition goes—it was in mending them that Great Big Bear found
he had a knack for handling tools. That very same summer he built an
entirely new set of chairs. Then he got to making things for the
neighbors and now—why, just look here.”

And going to the doors that were made from small trees, Shagg swung them
apart and so disclosed a deep cavern that extended far into the side of
the mountain. There, inside, were whole dozens of beds with inviting
looking rocks for mattresses, many massive chairs and no end of
footstools to match.

“My, what a lot of them!” marveled Little Black Bear. “Do you sell
many?”

“Well, not at this time of year,” explained Shagg, as he closed and
bolted the doors. “Most of the bear families are too busy vacationing
and roaming about through the forest during the summer to have much use
for furniture. But as autumn wanes and they begin to think of the long
winter nights when they will sit at home sucking their paws and drowsing
before the fire, I’ll tell you the thought of possessing a big roomy
chair and a footstool is a highly pleasing one. And, though I do say it,
no one makes better furniture than Shagg, the Carpenter. Why, with
anything like care, and provided the owner isn’t a terribly loud snorer,
one of my chairs will last all of two winters. But, of course, there are
snorers that will loosen the joints of the best chair that ever was
made.”

And so he rambled on, telling no end of interesting things until,
chancing to glance up at the sun, he sprang to his feet.

“Screws and screw drivers!” he exclaimed. “I had no idea it was so
late.” And he hurried back to the bench. “You see I always aim to build
at least one chair every morning. Would you care to watch me work?”

“Oh, I’d love to,” answered Little Black Bear.

“Ever use a saw?” the big fellow asked as he busied himself at the vise.

“Goodness, no. I shouldn’t know how to begin,” answered the watcher, as
he climbed to a seat on the far end of the bench.

“Well, just remember this, then,” instructed Shagg, as he gave the
vise-handle an extra hard twist, “if you ever do use one—or any tool for
that matter—don’t hold it too tightly. That’s nearly always the trouble
with beginners. They just grip for all they’re worth and try to do all
of the aiming. But what I say is—let a saw alone. Give it something like
a free head and it will follow the line most every time.”

“Why, it’s the same way with guiding a bicycle,” chimed Little Black
Bear. “I know when I first began to ride in the circus I used to grip
the handle bars like everything, but—”

And so—having become fast friends—Shagg and Little Black Bear visited on
through the hours, their voices mingling with the song of the saw, the
ring of the hammer, and all the happy sounds that came to the clearing
from the depths of the forest below.

Little by little the morning advanced. Little by little the shadows
crept nearer the rocks and the trees. Little by little the thing on the
sawhorses became more like a chair. And then, just as the last touch was
added, the soft hum of noontide was broken by a voice that came from
neither here nor there nor, for that matter, from any particular
direction at all.

“Shagg—ee! Shagg—ee!” it called in an odd, muffled note that seemed very
near and yet far away.

“All right, mother! Coming, mother!” roared Shagg as if in reply.

“Hurry, then, before the dinner gets cold,” again called the voice, and
this time Little Black Bear realized that it came right up from the
ground.

“Indeed, we will,” declared the big fellow as he put down his hammer and
untied his apron. “Come, now—”

“Oh, thank you very much,” protested Little Black Bear, “but really, I
have my lunch right here in my paper bag.”

“Nonsense!” insisted Shagg, “why mother wouldn’t hear to me leaving you
up here. So come along with you.” And leading the way to the far edge of
the clearing, Shagg uncovered an iron ring, raised a heavy trap door,
and the two descended a well-worn flight of winding stone steps until
they came to a great, rugged room that was almost as broad as the
clearing above.

It required but a glance for Little Black Bear to see that the place in
which he so suddenly found himself was a cave. There to the right was
what had once been its entrance but which had at some time or other been
turned into a window—a window that was framed with trailing wild roses
and through which he could see the trees of the forest and the bright
green of the grass underneath. On that side of the cave that was across
from the stairway rose a huge fireplace and in front of it—her back
turned toward them, and slowly stirring the contents of a very fat and
very round pot that hung over the flames—bent Mrs. Shagg.

“Mother, this is Little Black Bear; I have brought him down to dine with
us,” said Shagg.

“Why, isn’t that fine, now,” cried she, coming forward. “Indeed, young
sir, you are most welcome. You will find the spring over in the corner,
should you care to wash. It won’t take me a minute to put on an extra
bowl and then we’ll sit right down.”

As she hustled about, laying another place at the big wooden table that
stood in the middle of the cave, Little Black Bear thought he had never
met any one with such a white cap and apron. He just positively knew
there never were any starched quite as stiff and as straight nor adorned
with such beautiful bows. Indeed, he had hard work in trying to tell
whether the merry crackling sound that now and then filled the room came
from the apron or the fire on the hearth.

“Hurry along with the both of you, now,” called she, as Shagg and Little
Black Bear returned from the spring. And soon they were all three at
table. Little Black Bear had never before seen such lovely
dishes—beautiful iron ones and so delightfully black. Of course there
was porridge—three bountiful bowls of it—and a deep dish fairly
overflowing with honey. As they ate they talked, the guest telling many
stories of the circus and a great deal about Diggeldy Dan, the Pretty
Lady, and of Spangleland.

“Now, goodness, do eat your dinner,” Mrs. Shagg kept saying. “Shagg, do
help Little Black Bear to some more of the porridge.”

Dinner over with, Shagg and Little Black Bear drew their chairs back
from the table so that Mrs. Shagg might clear the dishes, and this gave
the visitor more of an opportunity of looking about. Along the sides of
the cave were a number of chairs, all with very high backs, and, between
these, no less than a dozen quaint chests with corners of brass and
handles of iron. On the walls of the cave were many big frames fashioned
from bark and each displaying subjects of a most interesting kind. One
pictured a wide-waisted hogshead labeled “Molasses”; while another
showed a huge honeybee drawn many times larger than bees really are and
bearing the title, “The Bears’ Very Best Friend.” In fact, Little Black
Bear thought all of the paintings in excellent taste and quite in the
style that one might expect to find in the dining room of almost any
bruin.

At the back of the cave was a stout wooden door which somehow or other
wore a mysterious look. Eyeing it closely, Little Black Bear was just
going to ask as to where the door led, when, glancing at Shagg, he saw
that the big fellow had gone sound asleep. Next he discovered that Mrs.
Shagg had done exactly the same thing in a comfortable rocker that stood
near the fire.

“Well, well,” said Little Black Bear to himself, “if that’s to be the
way of it, I, too, shall indulge in a nap.”

So, twisting about until he had got himself into a quite snoozy
position, he was just on the point of closing his eyes, when there,
among the wild roses, appeared a pink-frocked little girl with long
yellow curls. Even as he watched, she placed her two hands on the
window, and then, softly raising it, stepped into the cave.




                              CHAPTER XXI
        IN WHICH LITTLE BLACK BEAR ADDS STILL MORE TO HIS STORY


 If Little Black Bear had never before held his breath, he most
positively did when, as he gazed with fascination at the wee girl with
the tumbling curls, he saw her raise the window and place her two
slippered feet on the flagged floor of the cave.

The first thing he noticed was that she carried a bonnet by its long
ribbons quite as one holds the handle to a basket. This she first placed
on the floor and then, carefully closing the window behind her, again
picked it up and started on tiptoe toward Mrs. Shagg.

Now, as you no doubt remember, Little Black Bear had got himself into a
snoozy position just as the strange face appeared at the window, and he
still lay huddled deep down in the depths of his chair. So, as the one
with the bonnet softly crossed the great cave, the back of the chair
gradually shut her from view. But Little Black Bear had by this time
recovered his breath and, becoming more bold, put his head out from
under one arm of the chair in order to see what was about to take place.
There sat Mrs. Shagg—sound asleep in the rocker with her apron spread
over her knees. Quietly the little girl approached her. Not a sound did
she make. Except for the steady “tick-tock, tick-tock” of the clock that
stood on the mantel shelf, there was no sound of any kind throughout the
whole cave. Now the yellow-haired stranger was at Mrs. Shagg’s very
side, and had placed one of her hands under the crown of the bonnet.
What in the world was she going to do!

Leaning still farther out, Little Black Bear craned his neck to see just
what was about to come next. Ah! now he saw! Their visitor was pouring
something into Mrs. Shagg’s lap. But what was it she brought? Again he
edged himself still farther along. And then—

Bang!

Both the chair and the curious one struck the floor with a crash!

At the sound of the fall, Mrs. Shagg sprang to her feet with the
towering Shagg following after; while at the very same moment the floor
of the cave was simply strewn with berries that the little girl had
poured from her bonnet into Mrs. Shagg’s lap.

“Plumb-bobs and sawdust, now! What’s all this rumpus?” stormed the
carpenter, glaring about. “Oh, it’s you, is it, Tumble Curls; did you
come down the chimney and knock over the porridge pot?”

“And just look at the berries—all over the place!” cried Mrs. Shagg.

“And here’s something else on the floor,” added her husband, as his eyes
fell upon a certain sheepish-faced party who was just then picking
himself up from under the overturned chair.

“Yes,” admitted Little Black Bear, “it was all my fault. For it was I
who did it—I and the chair.” And he recited just what had happened. “But
I’ll clean up every last one of the berries—honest I will.”

“Pshaw, now, you’ll do nothing of the kind, for the broom will clear
them away in three Whisks and a whee,” laughed Mrs. Shagg.

“Of course,” agreed Tumble Curls “while I can easily get a brimming
bonnet-ful more.” And she started away toward the window.

“Nonsense,” protested Shagg, “you’ll do nothing of the sort; for we can
go without dessert for once, I guess. Stay right where you are and meet
our new friend, Little Black Bear.”

“Pleased to,” said Tumble Curls, dropping a curtsy and putting one hand
to her dimpled chin. And when, a moment later, she learned that Little
Black Bear was from the circus you may be sure she forgot all about the
berries that had by now been brushed into a dustpan by Mrs. Shagg.

Indeed nothing would do but that Little Black Bear should do some tricks
for them.

[Illustration: Little Black Bear gladly did his tricks over and over
again. _Page 185._]

“Oh, please, please do,” begged Tumble Curls, “for I’ve never, never
been to a circus, though my grannylocks has told me about them and,
once, I saw a wonderful picture. It showed some bears walking on big,
colored globes. Do they really do that?”

“Why, of course,” answered Little Black Bear. “That’s easy as pie. If I
only had—”

“I have the very thing,” interrupted Mrs. Shagg, as she went to one of
the chests that stood near the wall.

“Of course!” exclaimed Shagg. “The ball I made you to use when darning
my clothes.”

Out it came and soon, to the amazement of both the big bruins and the
great joy of Tumble Curls, Little Black Bear had mounted to the top of
it and traveled the full length of the cave. Then, as if to cap the
climax, he turned himself topsy-turvy, tossed his heels in the air,
and—of all unheard-of things—walked back again on his paws!

“Well, saws and sawhorses—I’d never have believed it!” marveled Shagg.

“Nor I, either!” admired Mrs. Shagg. As for Tumble Curls, she danced and
clapped her hands with so much delight that Little Black Bear gladly did
his tricks over and over again. Finally he turned a dozen somersaults
all in a row, to say nothing of leapfrogging high above four stools that
stood near the window.

Now, had Mr. and Mrs. Shagg and Tumble Curls had their way about it,
Little Black Bear would have spent the entire afternoon performing for
them. But just as he had sprung over the last of the stools, the clock
on the mantel suddenly seemed to forget to tick and to tock. Instead it
gave forth a warning “burr—r-r-r”, next it uttered a queer “click” and
then called out the hour in so positive a tone that Little Black Bear
turned about with a start.

“What! That o’clock!” cried he. “Oh, then I must be going at once, else
I’ll never reach the menagerie tent by half-past twilight.”

Of course the others protested, but when they understood that their
visitor really had to leave them, they immediately offered to accompany
him at least part way through the forest.

“It won’t take me a minute to get ready,” assured Mrs. Shagg, as she
went to the door at the back of the cave. And soon she came forth with a
beautiful cashmere shawl, a lovely green parasol, and a bonnet simply
covered with shining jet beads. While she was tying the bonnet strings
under her chin, Shagg had opened two of the chests. From one he took a
glossy silk hat that was almost as tall as the mantelpiece clock; and
from the other a cane with a gorgeous gold knob.

“Family heirlooms,” said he, as he handed the walking stick to Little
Black Bear for the latter’s inspection. “Yes, sir; wonderful cane it is,
too. The very one that belonged to Great Big Bear. Just look at the
initials engraved on the top of it.”

Sure enough, there were the three letters, “G. B. B.”—a bit worn, yet
still quite distinct.

“And the hat?” asked Little Black Bear, as they climbed the stone steps
and came to the clearing, “is it—”

“It is, indeed,” answered Shagg.

“My grannylocks always liked to tell of the time when she took it and
brought it back filled with berries,” put in Tumble Curls, “Goodness,
how Great Big Bear did scold!”

“But he ate the berries just the same,” added Mrs. Shagg.

“Then your grannylocks once lived here in the forest like you?” asked
Little Black Bear of Tumble Curls, as the four descended the slope.

“Of course she did. Surely you must have heard of my
grannylocks—Goldilocks, some called her.”

“Goldilocks!” repeated Little Black Bear. “Goldilocks! Well, I should
say I have! But,” he added in a puzzled sort of way, “I always supposed
that she and the Three Bears weren’t—weren’t—”

“Weren’t on very good terms?” finished Shagg. “Yes, we all know that
story. But, as I said this morning, the fact that Goldilocks broke those
chairs proved the very best thing that could have happened to our
family. So you may be sure it wasn’t long until she and the Three Bears
became the closest of friends.”

Thus they talked as they walked into the deeper depths of the forest.
What an odd group they made! First came Little Black Bear, his eyes and
his ears wide with attention and his lunch bag still tucked tightly
under one arm. At his side skipped Tumble Curls, swinging her bonnet and
chattering and laughing or telling no end of wonderful things about her
own home that lay in a glade high up the mountain slope. A dozen paces
behind them came the two Shaggs, arm linked in arm—he with his cane and
very grand hat and she with her parasol and still grander shawl. On they
went until they had got well past the great tree in which Little Black
Bear had slept through the night; past this and almost within sight of
the fringe of the forest. And then Shagg cried to them to halt.

“For it is here that we must leave you,” he explained. “You see, we
bears of the forest seldom or never go beyond or even to the edge of
it.”

“It has been fine of you to come all this way,” Little Black Bear said
gratefully, “and I can’t begin to thank you for the wonderful time I’ve
had.”

“La! La!” returned Mrs. Shagg, “all we hope is that you will visit us
again some day.”

“You’ll always find a welcome,” rumbled Shagg, as he gave Little Black
Bear a hearty thump on one shoulder.

“Oh, do come back,” said Tumble Curls wistfully. “Promise you will.”

“I’ll try,” answered Little Black Bear, as he set his face toward the
forest’s edge. And then, amid the cries of farewell, he parted from his
three friends.

He had gone but a short way when he felt something rather sharp and
rather hard pressing against the crook of his arm. It came from the
inside of the lunch bag. Then he remembered. It was the
taffy-on-the-stick. Quickly he turned back. Mr. and Mrs. Shagg were just
disappearing behind the trunk of a tree. But not so with Tumble Curls;
she was still watching after him. Little Black Bear now retraced his
steps, fumbling in the paper bag as he went.

“Here,” he said, as he reached Tumble Curls’ side. “Here: maybe you’d
like to have it.” And he thrust the taffy-on-the-stick into her hands
and then ran away as fast as ever he could. He recalled how he had twice
been tempted to eat the sweetmeat but had not; and he was glad.

Soon he reached the point where meadows came to meet the forest; and
there, quietly cropping the grass, stood the White-White Horse.

“Did you find your story?” asked a voice, while, as if to accompany the
words, the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes danced, smilingly, toward
him.

“Oh, Pretty Lady, it was a wonderful story,” cried Little Black Bear.
“You see—”

“Not yet,” answered she, “It’s not to be told until we get back to the
menagerie tent. So make haste to scramble to the top of yonder
treestump, while I bring the White-White Horse to the side of it.”

A moment later, Little Black Bear had climbed to his place and, just as
half-past twilight was about to begin, the three travelers set off with
all speed to rejoin those whom they knew were awaiting them.




                              CHAPTER XXII
           IN WHICH DAN MEETS BEADER, OF THE JUMPING DRAGOONS


 Just at the moment when the White-White Horse left the forest’s edge to
carry the Pretty Lady and Little Black Bear back to Spangleland,
Diggeldy Dan might have been seen flitting in and out between the big
and little tents on his way to the one which contained “the monkeys, and
lions, and tigers and things.” Indeed, the funny old clown in the
polka-dot suit skipped along even faster than usual; for he knew that
this was the evening that was to bring forth a wonderful story.

As for the animals, they knew this, too. And so, no sooner had Dan’s
face appeared through the rift in the wall at the far end of the tent
than there arose a cry that threatened to waken all the people of the
circus—soundly though they slept. But they slept on, while, as Mrs.
Shagg would have put it, Dan and Monkey released the impatient ones in
“three whisks and a whee.” To the center they trooped, coming from this
cage and that, or out the corrals—leaping and laughing with glee. And
just as Lion had brought them to order, in galloped the White-White
Horse, bearing his two precious passengers.

“Home again!” cried the welcoming crew.

“Home again!” echoed Little Black Bear; while all rose to their feet to
pay homage to the one with the dancing blue eyes. Dan assisted her to
alight while Elephant’s trunk lifted Little Black Bear to a place on the
ground.

“Now, then,” said Lion, “I know I speak the wish of every one of you
when I say that all are most eager to hear of Little Bear’s adventure in
the great, wide world. So if you, Pretty Lady, will accept a seat to my
right and Little Black Bear take one at my left, I’m sure we’ll prove a
most attentive audience.”

“I’m most agreeable,” the Lady replied.

“And I’m just bursting to talk,” declared Little Black Bear, “only I
simply can’t sit down to do it; I just have to stand up.”

“Suit yourself as to that,” laughed Lion, “only do begin and don’t leave
one thing untold.”

So Little Black Bear, with no end of gestures and no end of wigglings of
his wiggley nose, told the entire wondrous story from beginning to end.
Then, when he had finished, there came whole dozens of questions, all of
which he answered as best he knew how.

“That was an adventure,” Lion said, finally.

“Such an adventure!” the others exclaimed.

“Let’s draw straws again!” cried Monkey, “to see who’ll be the next to
go after a story.”

“But perhaps the Pretty Lady—” Lion began.

“Oh, I shall be very glad to carry another passenger away with me,”
answered she, “only I think it would be more fun if we this time made
the selection by counting out.”

“Counting out?” questioned Lion.

“To be sure,” she replied. “First you must all form in a circle. You,
Little Black Bear, will stand here with me, for of course you’ve already
had your adventure. Now,” she continued, when the great ring had been
made, “we will begin.” And she started around the circle, repeating the
words which you shall hear while touching an animal with the tip of her
whip with each word that spoke:

                 “Diggeldy, Diggeldy, Diggeldy Dan,
                 Stay in the circle, those who can;
                 Whip touch nose, or trunk or snout—
                 The last one touched is counted OUT.”

“Of course that first time was just for practice. But now we will start
in earnest, and the one who is touched by the whip when I speak the word
‘out’ must at once step aside. Thus we will continue until but one
remains and that one will be the next to go galloping away on the
White-White Horse.”

So the counting began. Out went Zebra and out went Seal and so on from
one to another until at last there remained only Tiger and Dan.

“And now, that I may have no way of knowing which of you I shall touch
when I speak the first word of the rhyme, I will ask Lion to place his
paws tightly over my eyes,” the Pretty Lady requested.

“Now,” warned she, when her eyes had been covered, “are they ready,
Lion?”

“They are.”

Down dipped the whip, and the Lady began touching first one and then the
other, while all those who were out joined in the lines of the rhyme.
And then, when it had brought them to the very last word, all fairly
shouted a tremendous “OUT!”

At the same moment Lion dropped his paws from the Pretty Lady’s eyes and
there was the tip of her whip resting on Tiger’s left ear!

“Dan!” cried she, while all the animals began chanting:

                “Oh, Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan,
                Go find us a story as fast as you can!”

“Indeed he will,” promised the Pretty Lady, “for I know exactly where to
take him. Only he may have to be absent over one twilight.”

“We’ll not mind,” said Lion.

“No, not one bit,” cried the rest.

“Especially if he brings back an extra fine story,” added Camel.

“Let us start at once, then,” the Pretty Lady commanded, “for we have a
long way to go.”

Off dashed the animals and were soon back in their homes. Dan locked the
last door and then, twirling about on one foot and waving a farewell in
every direction, he danced down the tent and jumped to the back of the
White-White Horse. The Pretty Lady had already sprung to her seat. Dan
once beside her, she touched the snow-white steed and the journey into
twilight-land was begun.

Onward and still onward they galloped. Soon darkness had come but the
White-White Horse gave no sign of a halt. Now he went skimming up the
side of a hill and then down the face of another. But at last, as the
travelers reached the brow of an unusually steep slope, they came in
sight of the big, yellow moon just as it was on the point of rousing
itself from the top of a more distant hill. And it was here the
White-White Horse stopped so suddenly that Dan was all but tossed from
his seat.

Catching his balance, the clown gazed over the Pretty Lady’s shoulder.
Before and beneath them, and to the right and the left of them,
stretched a bit of a valley that seemed fast asleep. Some of its sides
were covered with corn fields while others were checkered with patches
of wheat. These crept downward to the very edge of a dark clump of
raggedy trees that grew on the floor of the valley. In the midst of the
trees—but standing much higher than the tallest of them—was a queerly
shaped tower. Now it seemed to be thrusting its head into the moon’s
great, round face. It resembled nothing so much as a huge grandfather’s
clock. But what could a clock be doing in such a strange place?

Even as Dan pondered, the Pretty Lady motioned him to alight.

“You are to go into the valley,” she whispered, her face placed close to
his very white ear. “Two things you are to remember: Be ever so careful
as to just where you step; and, if you are asked why you have come,
always answer ‘Dickory Dock.’”

Dan would have liked more instructions but, just as he opened his lips
to question the Lady, the White-White Horse whirled about in his tracks
and was gone in the direction whence they had come.

“Well, well,” said Dan to himself, “I guess there is but one thing to do
and that is to go into the valley and see what I’ll find there.” So he
started off down the slope. Soon he entered a corn patch. As he neared
the middle of it he was joined by a breeze that rustled the long leaves
until they fairly sang at its touch. It was a soft, murmuring tune, with
a gay little quirk, and so filled with happiness that Dan soon found
himself singing a song of his own. How long he might have sung there is
no way of knowing, for he was still in the midst of the melody, when he
felt a sharp tugging at the great ruffled collar that circled his neck.
Thinking the collar had caught upon something, he turned to see what it
was. And there holding to a cornstalk while he jerked at the edge of the
ruff, was a most indignant mouse!

“So! I’ve finally brought you to a halt,” squeaked the stranger. “Didn’t
you hear me shouting at you when you entered the corn field? You clumsy
fellow—you almost stepped on my sentry box!”

Dan thought he had never before seen quite such a mouse. Not that his
face was unlike that of other mice, but because of the dress that he
wore. This consisted of a jaunty cap with a plume in it, a red coat
adorned with two rows of tiny brass buttons, and trousers that were
braided with gold stripes down the sides. Around his waist ran a belt
and from this hung a sword.

“Now who are you and what do you want,” demanded the mouse.

“Why, I’m Diggeldy Dan, and I—”

“That means nothing to me,” interrupted the other, “so I shall have to
ask you to leave here at once.”

“But—” protested the clown.

“But, nothing,” returned the mouse. “Begone, I say, or I shall summon
the guard without more ado.”

Then Dan suddenly remembered what the Pretty Lady had told him.

“Oh!” he hastened to say, “I almost forgot.” And bending over, he
whispered, “Dickory Dock.”

“Well, now, that’s different,” cried the mouse in the friendliest tone,
imaginable. “But why in the world didn’t you say that in the first
place?”

“I’ll confess I just didn’t think,” answered Dan. “The Pretty Lady told
me to repeat the words to whomever I met; but you see—well, I guess I
hardly expected to—to—”

“To be challenged by a mere little mouse,” supplied the guard, as he
sent forth a tiny but none the less merry laugh.

“And I was also told to watch where I stepped,” added Dan. “I hope I
didn’t harm the sentry box of which you spoke.”

“Not a speck. But tell me what you are and what we may have the honor of
doing for you?”

So Dan did.

“Hum,” mused the mouse, “I’m sure I don’t know whether we can supply any
sort of a story, but I assure you we will be most happy to serve you and
the animals of Spangleland in any way possible. As for myself, I will be
delighted to escort you, for I think I hear the relief guard coming this
way now. Hi! down there,” he called, as if speaking to some one at the
foot of the cornstalks, “that you, Skipper? All right—thought I knew
your step. A quiet watch to you. I’m off to accompany a friend down the
valley.”

Then, turning to Dan, he added, “You walk right along and I’ll just hop
from stalk to stalk until we get out of the corn patch.”

“I’ll go slowly,” Dan assured him.

“Oh, as to that, you may run if you wish. You see we of the Jumping
Dragoons pride ourselves on our ability to go long distances in a very
little time.”

Nevertheless they proceeded leisurely, chatting as they descended.
Beader—for such proved to be the name of Dan’s escort—explained many
things as they went and was just on the point of answering Dan’s
question about the thing that looked so much like a grandfather’s clock
when they reached the floor of the valley.

“Here,” said the mouse, “we enter the town proper. And,” he added,
making a very low bow, “Beader takes pride in being the first to welcome
you to the Valley of Tick Tock.”

“What an odd name!” exclaimed Dan. “Why do you call it that?”

“Listen a moment and you will hear,” replied Beader.

So Dan hearkened. And out of the silence there came a slow and very
measured and very musical sound. It was as if an ocean were not far away
or a brook had come to make its home near the trees. But, unlike the
boom of the surf or the song of a stream, this strange voice sang a much
different tune. Indeed, as Dan listened, he could plainly hear it
say—“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock!”

“Now,” Beader broke in, “if you will be careful as to where you step and
follow me closely, we will soon be in the main part of the town.”

Thus, he of the Jumping Dragoons leaping in advance—his red coat a
bright splotch in the moonlight—Dan followed him, wonderingly.




                             CHAPTER XXIII
         IN WHICH DAN SPENDS A NIGHT IN THE VALLEY OF TICK TOCK


 As Dan, guided by Beader, entered the town that lay in the center of
the Valley of Tick Tock, he saw that it had been built so that the trees
stood at the foot of it while the corn patches and the wheat fields
stretched on both sides and one end. From the fields and the woods
streets ran hither and thither at all sorts of angles. These were lined
with no end of queer houses. Some were of sticks, and some were of weeds
and still others were made of very fine grass. Now and then appeared a
dwelling more imposing than the rest. There was one that must have been
quite three stories high. All the houses faced on extremely scant
roadways that could not have been more than two-mouses wide.

But the street over which Beader took Dan was of a far different kind.
Indeed, it was almost as broad as a path in a park. It was well
sprinkled with sand and along both its sides were rows of tall corn. Dan
was about to ask if the street had a name when he noted a sign fixed to
the top of a stick. Stooping down he read:

                            CORNSTALK AVENUE
                   50 Dragoon Jumps to Public Square

And so, very shortly, he and his guide had reached the heart of the
town. Here, looking down, the visitor saw that they had stopped before
what he judged was the armory. In front of it stood a sentry box made
from the half of a corncob with windows cut in the sides. Out of this
stepped a mouse dressed exactly like Beader, only in place of a sword he
carried a lantern.

“Dickory Dock,” said Dan’s guide.

“Dickory Dock,” said the other. Then the two of them came to salute
after which Beader unbuckled his belt and handed it and the sword to the
one with the lantern.

“Now, then,” cried he, “I’m off duty till to-morrow! So, if you don’t
mind, I’ll come up there to your shoulder and conduct you wherever you
may care to go.”

“Do so, by all means,” answered Diggeldy Dan; and soon the other was
perched on the folds of his ruff.

“Of course,” began Beader, as he unbuttoned the top of his rather
tight-fitting coat, “you must understand that this particular town is
only one of several here in the valley. There is Stubbleton where the
Fielders live and that’s over in that direction. And there is
Nightsville, where most of the Muskers make their home. It’s back yonder
at the edge of the pond. Then there’s Dorton—that’s the Dormice
settlement and it lies well in among the trees. But it is here that we
hold most of our gatherings. I do wish you had been with us last
evening. There was a most exciting drill between the Jumping Dragoons
and the Nightsville Musketeers. We beat them all hollow at marching but
we couldn’t put up our tents quite as fast as they.”

“It must have been great sport,” said Dan, “I wish there was something
for us to see to-night.”

“Goodness, I wish so too,” answered Beader. “If it were only Clock
Night. But it isn’t for this is but the Day Before.”

“The day before,” repeated Dan, “the day before what?”

“The Day Before Clock Night. You see we of the Valley of Tick Tock have
only two kinds of days. There is the Day Before Clock Night and Clock
Night Day; then it becomes the Day Before Clock Night again; and so
on—over and over and over again.”

“But why do you give them such curious names?”

“Why because—but listen! What is that?” and Beader stood up and put his
head to one side. “Why, of course!” he exclaimed. “It’s the voices of
the Fielders. They must be out harvesting. If you’ve never been to a
moonlight harvest bee I know you’ll enjoy it. So come, let’s get over to
the wheat field as fast as we can.”

Off they went, taking another path which led in a direction opposite
from that by which they had entered the town. Soon they were at the edge
of the field. As they neared it Dan’s guide had leaped to the ground and
gone on in advance.

“Beader, of the Dragoons,” the clown heard him shout, “and I’m bringing
a friend with me.”

“Come along, then,” cried voices in answer.

“Now,” said Beader to Dan, “if you don’t mind getting down on your
knees, you’ll be able to see fairly well.”

Dan did still more; he stretched out quite flat and, with his chin
propped in his hands, peered in among the stalks of sweet-smelling
wheat. Of course there was the moon to help out but, as any one knows
who has peeped into a field even on the brightest of nights, there is
little save darkness in the depths underneath. So what was the visitor’s
surprise to see there quite clearly whole dozens of workers as busy as
bees.

Yes, there they all were, around a mite of a bonfire that was scarcely
larger than five candle flames. Yet, small as it was, it sent out its
flickerings in every direction and so lighted the wheat stalks for a
full yard away. Still other Fielders rushed about through the forest,
carrying lanterns and tiny leaf baskets. Up the stalks they would go,
fill their baskets with wheat, scurry back to the ground, take their
loads to the fireside, and then hurry away to do it all over again.

“The Fielders are the very best of all the harvesters,” said Beader, who
had by now taken a seat just under the end of Dan’s long, funny nose.
“They have a system for everything they do. Those that you see sitting
near the fire are the sack makers. They gather leaves and fashion them
into the bags that hold all the wheat. Those who are filling the bags
are called the sackers. They are mostly the younger Fielders, as are
those who bring straws to keep up the fire. The most important workers
are the gleaners. They must be good climbers and able to judge the very
best wheat. Hey, there, Friend Nibbler,” Beader suddenly cried to a
rather large mouse who seemed to be directing the work, “can you spare a
moment?”

“Never too busy to pass the time of night,” answered the one called
Nibbler, as he came toward them.

“This is Diggeldy Dan,” introduced Beader. “It’s his first time at a
harvest bee. Nibbler is in charge of the harvesting.”

“Glad to see you,” nodded the Fielder.

“It’s all very interesting,” returned Dan, “though from what I’ve seen
it mustn’t be very difficult to keep things going.”

“Everything does move pretty smoothly so far as the older Fielders go,”
agreed Nibbler, “but I have a number of youngsters among the sackers and
some of them can’t count as well as they might. You see the bags are
made to hold exactly fifty grains apiece and if more goes in—especially
if they are unusually fat grains—two or three too many may mean the
splitting of a bag. And then some of the other lads will stop to play
when they are out gathering straws and so let the fire get low. See! It
needs more fuel this very minute! So if you’ll excuse me I’ll go see to
it.”

And away he went in search of the boys who, as Dan plainly saw, were at
that moment in the midst of a game of hide-and-go-seek just beyond the
edge of the light.

“After the grains have been sacked,” Beader continued to explain, “the
bags are put away in storehouses for winter use. Our people of the
town—that is to say, the House-mice—trade cheese and cakes for wheat. We
also harvest quite a bit of corn.”

“Are those all the things you have to eat?” asked Dan.

“Oh, dear, no,” answered the other. “There are nuts, and the Muskers,
for instance, simply dote on apples. We always have an apple-rolling
when apples are ripe. That’s the best fun of all. Sometimes we get an
apple well up the side of a slope and then somebody starts laughing and
it slips away and goes scooting back again.”

“Does any one ever bother you here in the Valley of Tick Tock?” Dan
asked.

“No, indeed. To begin with I guess no one but the Pretty Lady with the
Blue-Blue Eyes and the White-White Horse would know how to find us.
And,” Beader added, drawing himself up to his full height, “even if they
did there are the Jumping Dragoons and the Nightsville Musketeers. Some
of us are always on guard.”

“Of course, of course,” agreed Dan, very seriously, and very solemnly.
“But tell me, how is it you call yourselves dragoons and yet have no
horses?”

“Oh, but we have. You see, I’m a dragoon only on every Day Before Clock
Night. On Clock Night Day I’m a horse. That’s the way we do in almost
everything. We take turns. I wasn’t riding my mouse-horse to-night
because we do that only when we drill.”

“I see,” said Dan, “but about the different clock days. You were to tell
me—”

“Oh, look! Look!” broke in Beader. “There, coming down that biggest
stalk. It’s Bounder, isn’t it? Why, of course it’s Bounder! Who but he
could do such a thing. See! He’s bringing down a whole head at one time
and I’ll warrant there isn’t a lean grain in all of it. I must speak to
him.”

Off he sprang and in two jumps had reached the side of the one called
Bounder. Up went one end of the head to his shoulder and then, amid the
cheers of the others, the red-coated dragoon and the good-natured
Bounder carried the prize to the feet of the sackers. Of course there
was visiting and more or less handshaking that might have kept up even
longer than it did had not Nibbler come up just then and ordered
everybody back to their various tasks.

“Fine folks, those Fielders, fine folks,” vowed Beader, as he joined Dan
a half-minute after. “I do hope you’ll have time to get over to
Stubbleton to-morrow. They’d not be able to do enough for you.”

“Wha—what did you say,” asked Dan, suddenly lifting his head. “Please,
do forgive me—I really believe I was nodding!”

“And no wonder!” cried Beader. “We’ve already visited well into the
morning. But what a night it is! And what a moon! I say, it’s really too
nice to sleep indoors even if we had a roof that would cover you. So
what do you say if we both make our beds in the corn patch that lies
just across from this field?”

“Nothing would suit me better,” declared Dan. So he and Beader set out
for the patch.

“Here’s just the place for me,” said the mouse as he curled himself up
at the foot of a stalk.

“While this space to the left must have been just measured for me,”
echoed Dan.

“So, then, good night,” answered Beader. “And mind you, just sleep as
long as you like for I assure you you’ll not be disturbed.”

But, though Dan had nodded while watching the Fielders, the walk to the
corn patch had roused him again. As he lay there looking out through the
leaves into the face of the moon he was reminded of the time when he had
gone to sleep with his head on Gray Ears’ great trunk. The night was
quite as still as the one he had passed in the depths of the woods. Yet,
just as there had then been the song of the cricket so now was there a
sound to accompany his thoughts. He had all but forgotten it while
attending the harvest bee. But now he heard it more distinctly than
ever. Whether it came from the south or the north, or came from the west
or the east he could not be sure. Perhaps it was wafted on breezes that
swung over the hills. But, from no matter whence, the sound floated
toward him: “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.”

“Oh, Beader,” he called, determined to find out just what it was that
gave forth the strange note. “Oh, Beader.”

But Beader was fast, fast asleep. So Dan said no more. And soon he, too,
had followed the example of the little dragoon, while all through the
valley went the voice that seemed never to sleep, saying “Tick-tock,
tick-tock, tick-tock—”




                              CHAPTER XXIV
          IN WHICH DAN IS PRESENTED WITH THE KEY TO THE VALLEY


 Having tarried in Slumberland until well into the morning, Dan finally
made known his intention of quitting it by rolling his head to one side,
wrinkling the end of his long, funny nose, and puckering his forehead in
the very same spot where his brow was adorned with a red polka dot.
Still, he did not at once rouse himself. In fact, so to put it, he
really awakened a bit at a time. And it was while he was not yet more
than half, or, at the very most, only two-thirds awake, that he felt
something tickling the tops of his knees. This caused him to wiggle the
ends of his toes and to pucker his brow even more than before. But the
tickling persisted and so, at last fully awakened, he opened his eyes
and sat straight up between the tall stalks of corn.

“A good morning, Sir Clown,” cried a welcoming voice.

At the sound of it, Dan looked to the right and looked to the left. But
naught could he see save the green of the corn and the splashes of
sunlight that patterned the ground.

“Here we are—out here!” again called the voice. And looking down, Dan
saw a most remarkable sight. There, drawn up in two lines along the
ridge of his legs and extending well over his knees, were two entire
companies of the Jumping Dragoons. He knew them at once, for all wore
coats, caps and trousers that were exact copies of Beader’s; while,
square at the head of them, astride a mouse in silver-trimmed trappings,
was none other than that worthy, himself.

“My, my; we thought you never would waken!” exclaimed Dan’s guide of the
night, “but now that you have, allow me to present my comrades of the
Micetown Dragoons.” At the precise moment that Beader pronounced the
“goons” in dragoons, he drew his sword from its scabbard and held it
fixed at salute while, with a rattle and swish and a flourishing flip,
all the rest of the mice followed suit.

“My respects to you to all and a good wish for each one,” returned Dan,
as he bowed as best he could sitting down, “I assure you I am honored by
this courtly attention.”

“Now then, fall out!” Beader commanded, “and make haste to bring forward
our guest’s breakfast rations.” Off Dan’s legs they all tumbled; down
past his feet they all went, and were soon coming back carrying whole
dozens of morsels of cream cheese and cake. These they piled high in
Dan’s willing lap and, a half-minute after, the clown was eating his
fill while the red-coated dragoons perched upon his knees, feet and
shoulders—visiting and chattering for quite all they were worth.

“I suppose you are surprised to see me in uniform after what I told you
last night,” Beader said. “But, since it was I who first guided you, all
the dragoons insisted that I should lead them to the corn patch this
morning. Besides, Plunger didn’t mind being a horse for to-day. Did you,
Plunger?” he appealed to the mouse upon whose back he sat.

“Ne—he—he,” answered Plunger, shaking his head and pawing Dan’s ruff
with one foot.

“He means, ‘No, not a bit,’” Beader explained. “You see it is one of our
rules that when a dragoon is a horse he is not to utter a word. He may
only whinny, or say ‘no’ or ‘yes’ with his head.”

So, as they talked, Dan finished his breakfast.

“That over with, we will prepare to move to the square,” announced
Beader. “Dragoons fall in!”

At this word from their leader, the others all sprang to the furrow and
were soon once more at attention.

“Forwar—r—r—d, ha!” came from Beader. Onward they marched until the rear
of their lines had passed well beyond the clown’s feet.

“Halt!” ordered Beader. “Now then, you, Diggeldy Dan, will march just
behind the tails that come last. You, band-mice, will take up your
position just behind Dan.”

With this last command a group of beady-eyed fellows swung into view
from an adjoining furrow. They wore jackets of green that contrasted in
most lively fashion with their pink pantaloons and still pinker hats. As
for instruments, there were what one might have called fifes, which were
made by placing blades of green grass between two whittled sticks; and
fully two dozen drums fashioned from corncobs with the ends covered over
with well-seasoned husks. On the head of the largest drum, Dan read the
words:

                     Fielders’ Fife and Drum Corps

The players were led by an unusually tall mouse who seemed all the
taller because of the great plush hat that he wore. This was held in
place by a strap that passed under his chin. He carried a glistening
stick, with a knob at one end, which he spun high overhead as he
marched. Dan knew him at once; it was Bounder, who had garnered the
whole head of wheat.

Thus brought into formation by Beader—their mile-high guest towering
above them—the mice slowly emerged from the corn patch. Soon they had
reached one of the broad, sanded paths that led into the town. Already
the merry notes of the fifes and the rattle of drums heralded the
procession’s approach. Small wonder, then, that windows were jammed with
vast numbers of spectators and the sides of the avenue simply gray with
the crowd. Many of the younger mice had climbed up the corn stalks that
bordered the street, while others trailed in the rear of the drummers or
kept pace with Bounder as he twirled his baton.

Beader, astride Plunger, was everywhere at once, so it seemed: First at
the head of the column and then at the back of it; now along one flank
and now down the other—giving this order or that in a manner that called
forth much admiration. At each of the corners were important mice in
blue coats who waved back the throngs as the marchers drew near and
touched their helmets as Dan passed their stations.

Such were the scenes that greeted Dan’s eyes as the procession moved
onward to finally arrive at the square. Big as it was, the plaza looked
to be completely carpeted with mice. These were of every color and size
and all smartly attired in holiday dress. On a central platform was
another mouse band. Its players blew lustily on pipes and on horns that
were made from parts of wheat stalks. Just in front of the bandstand—but
on a different and still higher platform—stood a table and, behind the
table, four chairs in a row. As for decorations—there, seemed to be no
end of them. Bandstand and platform were draped with bunting, and flags
and gay pennants fluttered forth on all sides.

Now, at the point where Dan had come to a halt was a wide-spreading tree
whose undermost branches just tipped the top of his sugar-loaf hat. This
tree shaded the greater part of the square. Looking up from the scene
that lay at his feet, the clown noticed a string dangling quite near his
nose. Following the length of it with a curious eye, he saw that it
passed through a miniature pulley that was fixed to a branch of the
tree. One half of the string ran down at a slant to be lost at a point
where the Jumping Dragoons had been drawn up at attention. The other
part of the string hung almost straight down until it reached the table
that stood on the platform. And now Dan saw that a flag had been placed
over the top of the table and that the end of the string passed under
the folds of it. Even as he looked there came a stir in the crowd and
another in the branches that spread near his head. Glancing up, he saw
Beader spring to his shoulder and, again looking down, beheld four
exceedingly dignified mice ascending the steps that led to the platform.
All wore glossy silk hats, which were removed as they reached the top of
the steps and then carefully placed under the four separate chairs that
stood in a row near the table. Then they sat down and began mopping
their brows with handkerchiefs which they drew from their pockets.

“They are our mayors,” Beader imparted, as the band struck up an
entirely new air, “of Dorton, of Nightsville, of Stubbleton, and here.”

The band again silent, the most portly mouse advanced to the
flag-covered table.

“Mayor Mouser, of Micetown,” whispered Beader.

“Friends and fellow mice,” began the speaker, “we are gathered here
to-day to welcome to our midst one who has traveled from afar. We have—”

And standing there with his head against the branches—Beader whispering
explanations of all that was not clear to him—Dan listened to this
welcoming speech.

“And now, in conclusion,” said the mayor, “I have, in the name of all
our villages, the honor of presenting Diggeldy Dan, with the key to the
Valley of Tick Tock.” As he said this he lifted one hand in signal
toward the companies of Jumping Dragoons. Instantly Dan saw that the
red-coated ones had taken hold of that end of the string which lay
nearest them. Now they ran outward quite as if they were playing at
tug-of-war. At the same moment the string tightened in the pulley, and
then—up from the table came the flag. As it unfurled to the breeze, Dan
saw that its emblem was a sheaf of bright yellow wheat. Under the flag
hung a bit of free string and, fast to the end of it—spinning and
glittering as it came—was a golden key scarcely longer than Dan’s little
finger! In a second the key had been drawn up on a level with his face
and, prompted by Beader, the clown untied it amid wave upon wave of
heartiest cheers and the gayest of gala-day music.

While the huzzas were in progress any who were not looking at Dan might
have noted that the four on the platform were in close consultation. A
moment later Mayor Mouser again waved for attention.

“I am happy to say that I have still another announcement to make,” said
he, when silence had fallen. “Of course the greater part of our guest’s
day and evening will be taken up with the tour of the valley. But this,
as we all know, being Clock Day Night, I ask that all of you who can
possibly do so, be in the square at midnight. For it has been
unanimously decided that Diggeldy Dan is to accompany us to Hear the
Clock Strike One!”

Cheer after cheer greeted this news. Again Dan was reminded of the queer
tower that he had seen among the trees when he first entered the valley.
Again he recalled the strange sound that had lulled him to sleep. He
wondered if these things were to play a part in the promised adventure.
But there was no time to ask. Already Beader had descended to the ground
and was bringing the dragoons to attention; already a new procession was
being formed to escort Dan on his tour through the Valley of Tick Tock.

Now Bounder had begun to twirl his stick Skyward and the fifes to make
merry and the drums to beat. So, still wondering—the golden key clasped
tightly in one hand—Dan marched from the plaza, bowing first one way and
then the other to the crowd or waving his pointed hat toward wee
mice-in-arms that were held upward to claim his attention.




                              CHAPTER XXV
                IN WHICH DAN HEARS THE CLOCK STRIKE ONE


 Now should you ever, like Dan, some day visit the Valley of Tick Tock,
and, reaching the plaza that lies in the very center of Micetown, take
eleven steps to the east and then ten to the south, you would, like as
not, come upon a vine-covered mound something of the width, the shape
and the height of a haycock. And were you to thrust the vines to one
side, you would find that they covered the face of two wooden doors, so
fashioned and hinged as to part in the middle. But did you seek to open
them to learn what might be concealed underneath, you would discover
that something forbade you to do so. And after you had tugged, and then
tugged again, and probably said “Oh, dear,” at your failure, you would
seek out the reason and find it to be a stout and wholly unyielding
lock.

But this is something with which you will doubtless never contend. Not
that you will never visit the valley, but because, if you do, you will
most likely be accompanied as was Diggeldy Dan. For, at the end of the
day and the first hours of the night spent in journeys to Stubbleton,
Dorton and Nightsville, the clown found himself marching toward this
very same knoll that has been described as resembling a haycock.

What a marvelous multitude attended him! Of course there were the
dragoons, and there were the bands, and there were the mayors,—all four
of them. The latter now rode in splendid corncob carriages, drawn by
mice in harness and plumes and driven by others with cockades on their
hats. At the rear and both sides walked mice in such numbers, and so
packed together, that as Dan looked down on them it seemed as though the
very ground was in motion. And when, now and then, the vast procession
came to a pause—as processions are likely to do—there was not the
slightest bit of confusion. This was because every mouse instantly
stepped on the tail of that mouse who walked just in front of him and so
held him quite fast just as he, in turn, was held in his tracks by the
one who came to a halt right behind him.

Nearly all had brought lamps. These were not carried but were fastened
to the caps that all of them wore. This gave the throng a most
picturesque look. It made Dan think of a torchlight procession and,
again, of the lights that jewel a town when one views it from some
distant hillside. Just why the mice had been provided with lamps Dan
could not guess; for the moon now floated high in the skies and flooded
every inch of the way. But he was soon to find out, for it was not long
before the mayors drew up in the lee of the knoll that looked so much
like a haycock. Up the vines went the dragoons and, pulling this way and
that, quickly bared the two doors to full view. Next Mayor Mouser and
his companions alighted. Looking back, Dan saw that all the attending
throng were standing upon each other’s tails as though awaiting some
momentous event.

“Advance to the portals, Diggeldy Dan!” cried Mayor Mouser, as he waved
toward the tightly locked doors. With two strides the clown stood before
them.

“You have the key?”

“Right here in my hand,” Dan made haste to reply, as he held the object
on high that all might observe it.

“Then, be it known to you that that which you hold is the key to the
underground passage—the passage that leads to the Clock.

“Are we all ready?” called Mayor Mouser, as he leaped to the seat of his
carriage the better to look back across the vast sea of faces that
stretched for yard after yard down the avenue.

“Yes, yes!” answered a thousand and one voices as their owners danced
with impatience upon a thousand and one tails.

“Then, Dan—open the doors!”

At this command the clown dropped to both knees. Quickly he thrust the
key in the lock and turned it as swiftly with a twist to the right. As
he did so the dragoons swung the two doors apart. And there, before him,
and leading into the knoll, was a tunnel as black as the darkest of
nights.

Into this curious passage leaped the van of the column, waving bright
torches high overhead. The bands followed after and next came the
mayors—all four of them—marching abreast.

Now Dan had sunk down on his knees when he unlocked the doors and so was
quite in a position to enter the passage—not walking upright, as you may
well suppose, but moving along on “all fours.”

Down, down and still downward they all traveled. Around and around they
all wound their way. Now and then the passage opened into galleries of
considerable size. Still other tunnels branched into these and from out
of them trooped yet other mice to join in the endless procession.

“They are those who have entered the tunnels that join this larger one
as it winds under Dorton, Stubbleton and Nightsville,” Beader explained.
“But we have passed the last galleries and will soon be in the Great
Room. You may even now be able to see the lights up ahead.”

And Dan could. There, far beyond and above the heads of the mice that
marched in front of him, was a faint yellow glow. This grew brighter and
wider as they advanced. Then, two minutes after, the column entered the
room that Beader had promised.

The Great Room was quite big enough to allow Dan to stand upright. Its
walls formed an oblong and along these walls were an almost countless
number of balconies to the railings of which scores of torches were
fixed. Dozens upon dozens of tiny stairways ran from the balconies while
still other flights connected the higher ones with those that were under
them. The room had no furnishings. Its floor was of stone and worn
almost to a polish as though it had been visited time after time by
thousands after thousands of feet.

Having observed this much, Dan looked overhead. It was then he
discovered that the room had no ceiling. At first he thought he was
peering into the skies, so deep was the gloom up above. But, try as he
would, no stars could he see nor yet so much as a glint of the moon.
Indeed, there was nothing but the rather dim outline of a most confusing
something that swung first to right and then to the left like the
pendulum that sways in a clock.

“Like the pendulum that sways in a clock,” puzzled Dan, as he put his
thoughts into words. “Why is it a pendulum!”

Even as he spoke his ears detected the steady “tick-tock, tick-tock”
that he had heard when he first entered the valley. And the sound came
from a point right over his head! Now he knew; now his eyes, grown
accustomed to the gloom, told him he was right. He was looking up into
the great tower—the tower that he had seen with its head thrust through
the trees. And, as if to favor the watcher, the moon at that moment sent
some of its beams through a chink at the top, plainly disclosing whole
mazes of wheels and two hands of tremendous size. The hour lacked but
five minutes of one!

“Yes,” said Beader, who had by this time mounted to Dan’s ruff, “the
Great Room is directly under the Clock. And now if you will stand right
where you are you will see and hear all that takes place. That’s my
balcony up yonder and I must be getting over to it at once.”

Away he scampered and as he did so Dan saw that all the mice were
mounting the stairways and climbing to the balconies that bordered the
room. In the largest of these, at the center of the topmost tier, a
choir was being formed. One who seemed to be the leader gave the pitch
now and then by blowing upon a stalk of wheat. Then, at a signal, the
chorus began:

                        “Dickory, dickory dock;
                        Dickory, dickory dock.”

These same words were chanted over and over and over again, but with
many changes of melody. As the chorus rang through the Great Room, Dan
saw that those in the balconies were standing on very tiptoes, as if
eager to be off to he knew not where. Suddenly more words were added to
the song:

[Illustration: At the boom of “One” the mice fairly rained into the
Great Room. _Page 235._]

“The mice ran up the clock,” sang the voices. Instantly the air seemed
filled with flying mice. From every balcony they sprang—mayors,
dragoons, band-mice, and all—leaping upon the great pendulum that swung
across the width of the room. And, reaching it, up the great shaft they
went—upward into the very tower of the Clock. There were those who
missed when they jumped. But these picked themselves up in a twinkling,
dashed back to the balconies and once more leaped for the pendulum. Now,
all others gone, the singers followed their fellows until, at last, only
Dan remained in the Great Room.

                      “Dickory, dickory dock,
                      The mice ran up the clock,”

came the far-away voices of the chorus.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock,” sang the Clock in reply.

Then it gave forth a great “bur-r-r-rr” that shook the tower to its very
base.

“The clock struck one,” chorused the choir.

“Boom!” went the Clock.

“The mice ran down—” began the singers. But whether the verse was
completed Dan could not tell. For, at the boom of “One” the mice fairly
rained into the Great Room. Down they came, laughing, tumbling, racing
and scrambling pell-mell—all bound for the tunnel that led to the knoll.
Into the passage they went, some riding on the backs of their comrades
or smaller ones clinging fast to the tails of those who were larger and
swifter than they. Last of all came the mayors holding tight to their
hats. With such speed did all travel that the echo of “One” had hardly
completed its rounds of the tower when the Great Room was empty. Yet not
quite empty for, as Dan turned to follow, there came a patter of feet
near his own. It was Beader who had returned to escort him back through
the passage.

“Wasn’t it fun!” cried the red-coated dragoon as the two of them entered
the tunnel.

“Fun!” answered Dan, “why it’s more than that—it’s a story! What a tale
I shall have to tell when I get back to the menagerie tent! But, now
that I have my story, I suppose I should be returning to the corn patch
where we first met, for it may be that the Pretty Lady will be waiting
to carry me back to Spangleland.”

“Then we will take this passage to the left,” said Beader. “It will
bring us out but a few steps from there.” So the two pressed forward
with no light to guide them save the wee lamp that the dragoon wore in
his cap. Suddenly Beader stopped.

“I heard it, too,” chimed Dan. “It was a neigh! The White-White Horse
must be near the mouth of the passage. Come, let us hurry.”

Soon they were standing in the moonlight and there, sure enough, was the
one with the Blue-Blue Eyes.

“I knew you were coming,” she said. “I could hear your voices under the
ground. But now you must bid Beader farewell, else we will never reach
the circus by dawn.”

“A good-by and no end of thanks to you, Friend Beader,” exclaimed Dan.

“A good-by to you, Diggeldy Dan,” the dragoon cried warmly, as the clown
sprang to his seat. “And do come and visit us again some day.”

“Indeed, I shall try,” called Dan in return as the White-White Horse
started off down the slope. And looking back he could see that Beader
had mounted to the top of a cornstalk. There he stood, waving his plumed
cap over his head, his red coat a bright spot in the moonlight.

Soon the hoofs of the White-White Horse began to play a soft tattoo on
the turf and the Pretty Lady’s laugh to ring merrily in tune with it.
But these sounds could not shut out another that Dan fancied still
filled the air. It seemed to come from the fast receding valley, growing
fainter and fainter and fainter, yet still saying, “Tick-took,
tick-tock, tick-took.”


So we will leave Dan here—leave him as he is being carried back to the
great menagerie tent where (you may be very sure) he told every wee bit
of the tiniest part of his adventure to the animals who awaited his
coming. “And, after that?” you no doubt are asking, “did he return to
see Beader? Or ever again go adventuring with Gray Ears, the Elephant?
And the Pretty Lady with the Blue-Blue Eyes; did she carry more of the
animals into the wide wide world on the White-White Horse? And did Dan—”




                              CHAPTER XXVI
                     WE SAY GOODBYE TO DIGGELDY DAN


 Stop! Stop! Thumb-bobs and tack hammers, what a collection of
questions!

“But how is one to know when there are no more pages that tell?” you
persist.

How, indeed! And yet there is a way. For one may always summon those two
marvelous playfellows, _Guess_ and _Suppose_, and with them seek out
even Diggeldy Dan. And, having caught up with him, you’ll find the
blue-eyed one, too; and (like as not) Lion, and Monkey, and Tiger, and
Seal, and the rest of the whole merry crew. For none of them is ever a
great ways away,—at least no farther than the circus is near.

“But,” you enquire, after considering this plan for a minute or more,
“will they talk to me when once I do find them?”

Perhaps. And yet you must not be sad if they will not. Instead, you
should recall what Gray Ears once said in speaking to Dan. “Unless I am
away from the circus, I rarely talk to any one,” he warned. “Indeed you
might spend months upon months with the Very Biggest Circus and yet
never hear one of its animals utter so much as a word.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES


 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.





End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Diggeldy Dan, by Edwin P. Norwood