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