THE GUINEA-PIG WHOSE EYES FELL OUT
“Really, I didn’t mean to pick you up by the tail,” said Buddie,
turning over the leaves in search of the missing eyes.
“That’s what they all say,” sobbed the Guinea-Pig. “Can’t you find
them? It never took so long before.”
“Here’s one! What a teeny little eye! And here’s the other! How do you
put them back?” Buddie asked the Rabbit, who, mirror in hand, was again
studying his nose.
“Ask the Guinea-Pig; they’re _his_ eyes,” replied the Rabbit. “I have
troubles of my own.”
Buddie took the Guinea-Pig in her lap.
“If I’m not doing it right you must tell me,” she said. “And _do_ stop
sobbing; it shakes your head so I can’t do a thing.”
“I can’t stop,” blubbered the Guinea-Pig. “If I don’t cry I have to
sob.”
“Well, _cry_ a little, then, for a change. You won’t shake so.”
“But I _can’t_ cry,” wailed the unhappy Guinea-Pig. “My eyes are out.
Oh! oh!”
He gave a little squeak, more of fright than of pain, for Buddie had
grasped him so tightly that he couldn’t shake, and scarcely could
breathe.
“There!” she exclaimed triumphantly, slipping back the eyes. “Now
you’re all right, and I’ll never pick you up by the tail again, you
dear, dear little thing!”
She stroked him affectionately, but the Guinea-Pig, instead of cheering
up, wept like a baby. His brown eyes fairly streamed tears.
“Oh! oh!” he cried. “Everything’s upside down!”
“I know it, dearie,” said Buddie, soothingly. She was getting used to
the topsy-turviness of the wood, and she was not the least surprised to
hear the Guinea-Pig wail forth:
“You’re standing on your head! You’re standing on your head!”
“It only _seems_ so to you,” Buddie replied. “You shouldn’t live in
such a ’diculous wood, you know.”
“You’ve put his eyes in upside down, stupid!” said the Rabbit. “You
ought to be more careful.”
“Dear! dear!” exclaimed Buddie, in dismay. “What’s to be done now?”
“Pick him up by the tail again,” was the brief advice.
“Oh! oh!” bawled the Guinea-Pig. “Must I go through all that again?”
“Don’t take on so,” soothed Buddie. “It’s for your own good. And we
shan’t lose the eyes this time. We really shan’t.”
As gently as possible she lifted the Guinea-Pig by the tail, and when
his eyes fell out she caught them in her hand.
“Be sure to put the right eye on the right side and the left eye on the
left side,” said the Rabbit, “Otherwise he’ll be cross-eyed.”
“I wonder which is which,” said the puzzled Buddie. “They ought to be
marked.”
“You know the old rule for telling the left one. It’s the one you pick
up second.”
“I don’t see why,” said Buddie, who had never heard the old rule.
“If you pick up one, the other is _left_, isn’t it?”
“But does it matter which one you pick up first?”
“Certainly not. How stupid you are!”
“Well, I’ll try this one,” said Buddie.
“That’s _right_,” said the Rabbit.
“There! I do hope I haven’t made any mistake,” said Buddie, when the
operation was over. “Goodness! What are you crying about now? Do your
eyes pain you?” For the Guinea-Pig continued to weep as if his little
heart were broken.
“Oh, don’t mind him,” said the Rabbit. “He’s that way nearly all the
time. Tell her the story of your life, old fellow,” he suggested,
patting his weeping friend on the shoulder.
“Yes, do!” encouraged Buddie. “It must be very sad,” she remarked to
the Rabbit.
“Yes--when you’ve heard it for the first time,” he replied. “Come,”--to
the Guinea-Pig,--“cheer up!”
“Perhaps if it’s so sad he may not want to tell us,” suggested Buddie,
who was beginning to feel a bit tearful herself.
“Oh, he likes to talk about it,” said the Rabbit. “Everybody likes to
talk about his own affairs. There’s my nose, for instance. Go on, old
fellow. ‘I was born--’”
The Guinea-Pig dried his eyes with the back of his paw, sniffed once or
twice and began:
“I was born in a large wire cage, in a doctor’s office, at the age of
one.”
“How _could_ you be?” Buddie interrupted. “You couldn’t be one year old
when you were born, you know.”
“He means one _second_,” explained the Rabbit. “Don’t interrupt, or
he’ll start bawling again.”
“Next door to us lived another family of guinea-pigs,” went on Brown
Eyes. “There were two daughters--one of them the sweetest, dearest--”
Here the Guinea-Pig broke down, and it was some time before he was able
to resume his story.
“One day some visitors came to the office, and the doctor took me out
and exhibited me to them. ‘Is he old enough to kill?’ asked one of the
visitors. ‘Just the right age and weight, two hundred and fifty grams,’
replied the doctor. And before I could realize the meaning of these
dreadful words he seized a glittering instrument and plunged it into my
body.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Buddie, horrified. A warning glance from the Rabbit
checked further comment.
“For twenty-four hours I lay senseless; and when I came to--alas!
what was there to come to?--I was alone in the world! All, all were
gone, the old familiar faces; and the doctor was looking into my cage
and saying: ‘Well, well! You’re a tough little Guinea-Pig, and no
mistake.’”
A fresh flood of tears delayed the recital, and the Rabbit, who was
anxious to be off, looked his impatience. With an effort the Guinea-Pig
continued:
“I had tuberculosis in March, diphtheria in April, tetanus in May, and
anthrax in June; but--but I recovered--”
“Of course you did,” said the Rabbit, cheerily; “otherwise you wouldn’t
be here. Well, I’ve got to be moving along, as I have several important
matters to attend to.”
“There! Don’t cry any more, Brown Eyes,” said Buddie, wiping the
Guinea-Pig’s eyes with a corner of her dress.
“By the way,” said the Rabbit, “how would you like to look in on the
Greenwood Club this afternoon? You can come as my guest, you know.”
“Ever so much!” replied Buddie, happily.
“Doctor Goose is to read a paper; and there will be games and singing
and the usual good time. We get together once a week, and even the
Guinea-Pig forgets his troubles. Don’t you, old fellow?”
But Brown Eyes only snuffled.
“If you will meet me at the Corner at two o’clock,” said the Rabbit to
Buddie, “I shall be happy to escort you to the Club. Good morning!” He
bowed and hurried away.
“What corner?” Buddie called after him. “_What corner?_ WHAT CORNER?”
But only an echo came back; and not, oddly enough, an echo of her own
words, but something that sounded like
“His no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ose--
Wabble his nose--
Why does he wabble his nose?”
And, like everything else in this queer wood, the echo was upside down.
That is to say, it began faintly and grew clearer, clearer, clearer,
until the wood rang with it.
It seemed to come from somewhere overhead, and Buddie looked up. As
she did so, the interlacing tree-tops melted away, and the patches
of sky ran together and became one big sheet of blue. Gradually she
lowered her eyes, and--
There she was back in Beavertown, in the meadow bordering the little
river. And there was the Laziest Beaver, lying in the sun and fanning
himself with his tail. And there was the Yellow Dog, just finishing the
chorus of his song, _Nobody Knows_.
Now wouldn’t that surprise you, Little One?