AT THE CORNER
Buddie had walked a long way from the Stork before it occurred to her
that she had forgotten to inquire of him the way to the Corner: it was
just possible he knew. But it was too far to go back; so she kept on
in the hope of coming to the Corner or some path leading to it. This
hope was soon realized. A very plain opening in the wall of fir-trees
disclosed itself, and another sign-board gave information that _this_
was the way to the Corner. Strange she had not noticed it when she
passed that way a little while before!
It proved a pleasant path to follow, especially after it drew away from
the swamp and began to climb a little ridge. The Christmas trees gave
place to birches and poplars, and sweet-smelling Canada balsam, and
other trees that prefer hard ground to swamp land; a white-throated
sparrow, which seemed to be traveling Buddie’s way, sang every minute
or two his happy little song; and a brook, which was traveling the
other way, gurgled something that sounded like: “What’s the use of
going uphill when it is so much pleasanter to go down?”
But Buddie had not much farther to go. There was one steep little hill
to climb, and a huge fallen tree to get over, but, these passed, her
journey was at an end. On a big pine-tree was a fourth sign-board which
read:
+--------------------+
| THIS IS THE CORNER |
+--------------------+
“What a perfectly ’diculous corner!” cried Buddie, disappointed
because, so far as she could see, it did not differ from any other part
of the wood.
Nothing in the wood, Little One, is harder to find than a corner. And
if you don’t know one when you see it, you shall never find it. There
was a sign-board to tell Buddie, but I never heard of anybody else
being assisted in that way.
Little as there was to see at the Corner, Buddie had no opportunity to
look about. The patter of feet sounded close at hand, and the Rabbit
made his appearance. He was equipped for a journey, and evidently no
short one; on his back was a large pack--that is, large for a rabbit.
“On time to a minute,” he said, referring to himself. “Have you been
waiting long?”
“I just came,” answered Buddie. “Is it far to the Greenwood Club?”
“Oh, no; only a little way. We can follow this path or take a short cut
through the brush, as you prefer.”
Buddie thought the path would be more agreeable, and they moved along,
the Rabbit chatting pleasantly about the weather, which was remarkably
fine, even for that time of year, but making no reference to the
birthday party at the Bear’s and the strange way it broke up.
Yes; he was going on a journey later in the day, after the frolic at
the Greenwood Club. He was going up to The Well, as he had informed her
when first she met him. Where was this wonderful Well? The Rabbit could
not say; he had never been there. Then how did he expect to find it? He
had a map, which he showed Buddie.
“My grandfather made it,” said he. “He went up to The Well five years
ago.”
“To find out why a rabbit wabbles his nose?” The Rabbit nodded. “Did he
find out?” The Rabbit shook his head.
“The water was too high; he couldn’t get near the mouth of The Well.”
“Why, what a funny map!” cried Buddie.
“What’s wrong with it?” demanded the Rabbit.
Buddie did not undertake to say right off. She had seen a great many
maps. Every land-looker that stopped at the log house for a chat or a
dinner had a pocketful of them, and many an expedition into the timber
had been planned within Buddie’s hearing. All these maps were ruled off
into little squares, in which were indicated the rivers, swamps, hills
and trails--when there were any trails, which wasn’t often. But the
Rabbit’s map--well, if you will glance at the next page you will see
just how it looked.
“What’s wrong with it?” the Rabbit again demanded, and in a slightly
offended tone.
“It may be all right,” Buddie hastened to say; “only, you know, it’s
nothing but circles.”
“When you walk in the wood where there aren’t any paths you keep going
round in a circle, don’t you?” said the Rabbit.
“Do I?” said Buddie, wonderingly.
[Illustration: _THE RABBIT’S MAP_]
“Of course you do,” said the Rabbit. “Now, it stands to reason that
if you begin by making a large circle, then a second circle smaller
than the first, then a third smaller than the second, and so on, you
will eventually come to what you are looking for.”
This sounded plausible.
“But,” said Buddie, “you don’t need a map for _that_, do you?”
“My grandfather was a great hand for maps,” replied the Rabbit. “He
used to say: Never start to explore a strange country without first
making a map of it.”
“It seems a dreadfully roundabout way,” objected Buddie, with another
glance at the circles.
The argument was interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs, and Buddie
looked up to see the long ears of the Donkey through the network of
green. He, too, was on his way to the Greenwood Club, and he expressed
pleasure at again meeting Buddie and the Rabbit; but, like the Rabbit,
he made no reference to the Bear’s party and its curious ending.
Perhaps the people of the wood took such things quite as a matter of
course.
“Are you estimating timber?” asked the Donkey, with a glance at the
Rabbit’s pack.
“I am going up to The Well to find out why I wabble my nose,” the
Rabbit replied.
“He has a map,” said Buddie, curious to know what the Donkey thought of
it. “Show it to the Professor.”
The Rabbit passed it over, and the Donkey, after one look, hee-hawed
outrageously.
“Thistles and cactus!” he cried. “This isn’t a map; it’s a target.”
“It’s a map, and a perfectly good one,” said the Rabbit, highly
offended by the ridicule. “My grandfather made it.”
“Your grandfather must have been a Welsh rabbit, and dreamed it,” said
the Donkey, with a chuckle.
“He was _not_ a Welsh rabbit, and he did _not_ dream it,” returned the
Rabbit, now furious.
“Then he must have had wheels in his head,” declared the Donkey.
“Thistles and cactus! Where do you expect to get to with such a map?”
As the Rabbit was too angry to reply, Buddie repeated his explanation
about traveling in gradually narrowing circles.
“Bosh!” cried the Donkey. “Why, it would take you a week.”
“I expect to be gone a week,” said the Rabbit, coldly.
“But what’s the use of spending a week on a journey you can do in an
hour?” said the Donkey. “Come, be reasonable.”
“Perhaps, if you are so clever, you can show me the way,” said the
Rabbit, who believed the Donkey was talking simply to hear himself talk.
“I certainly can,” replied the other, amiably. “But we’ll talk about
this later. Here we are at the Club now, and it’s about time for the
fun to begin.”