_How Bab Rescued the Wooden Cow_
After Bab and Wiggles had reached the top of the hill, and floundered
through a space packed with snow, they found themselves in a clump
of fir-trees, with the wind whirling about them, and, not far away,
the yellow twinkle of a light. Of course Bab intended to go straight
on toward the light, but first she paused to take breath. And as she
paused, she heard a little voice, quite close to her, exclaim: “Oh,
dear! Oh, dear! What do you suppose it is?”
“What do I suppose _what_ is?” said Bab, with a start, forgetting to be
polite.
There was a slight scramble, and a patter of very tiny feet; and then
Wiggles began to bark excitedly, with his ears cocked forward, and his
bright eyes fixed on the ground.
“We—we weren’t talking _to_ you,” explained the wee voice, nervously.
“We were talking _about_ you when we said ‘What is it?’”
“Oh,” said Bab, rather crossly. “Well, you’re very rude, anyway.”
“So are you,” said the small voice, coolly.
Bab felt angry and bewildered.
“I think,” she returned, “that I might just as well ask what you are!”
“Certainly!” said the little voice, more cheerfully. “We are the
Mischief Brownies,—servants of the dear Wicked King, of the Red City.
And you, I suppose, are an ogre?”
“Why, no!” said Bab. “I’m a little girl.”
“Nonsense!” said the Mischief Brownie. “We know better! You’re big!
You’re enormous! _We_ know you. You’re an ogre!”
“Well, anyway,” said Bab, “I’m in a hurry; so good-night!”
“Where are you going?” asked the voice, anxiously. “You aren’t a friend
of Santa Claus, are you?”
“N-no,” said Bab, truthfully, “I never saw him in my life.”
“That’s all right, then!” cried the Brownie, gaily. “You can help us in
that case!”
A number of little lights appeared in the darkness near the ground.
They seemed to be tiny lanterns, and by their light Bab could see the
bearers of them. They were wee, wee men, not more than a few inches
high, dressed in brown, with green caps. Their faces were all stamped
with wide grins, and their eyes were not unlike Bizzybuzz’s and the
Musical Goblins’.
“We’ll teach you six new spells or give you a wishing-cap if you’ll
help us,” said the spokesman.
Bab’s heart leaped. A wishing-cap! If she had that, she might go at
once to the City of the Wicked King, and help Dick rescue Humpty Dumpty
for Mother Goose; and then they could all be free!
“What do you want me to do?” she asked.
“Listen!” said the Head Brownie. “Santa Claus has a Wooden Cow, of
which he is very fond. It was only a little toy to begin with, but he
fed it with all the shavings and saw-dust of magic wood that were left
from his work, and it grew nearly as big as his house! Our master, the
Wicked King, has sent us to chop the Wooden Cow up, and bring him back
as much of the magic wood as we can carry. That magic wood is very
valuable, you see, and very hard to get, and he wants to have some
spells made out of it.”
“I never heard of anything so dreadful!” Bab exclaimed indignantly.
“Poor cow!”
“It won’t hurt it at all,” explained the Mischief Brownie. “The cow is
nothing but wood, you know. Now, what we want you to do is to help us
chop up the cow, for we aren’t big enough to do much by ourselves.”
“Indeed, I’ll not help you,” said Bab, decidedly. “I’ll not chop up
Santa Claus’s cow, and what’s more,” she cried with a sudden thought,
“I’ll save her from you too!”
She began to run as fast as she could, Wiggles scampering ahead, and
the Brownies after her. She could hear their shrill voices telling her
to stop, but she ran on. Soon she saw that they were going faster than
she, and had turned to the right, dashing away through the starlight.
They looked like black specks on the white snow. For they had all left
the darkness of the clump of fir-trees by this time, and the queer
little men were plainly visible.
Faster and faster she went; Wiggles rushing along in front of her,
barking loudly. Soon she saw the barn glimmering dimly against the
sky. Bab dashed toward it. The Brownies had disappeared; they must be
already inside.
“Oh, dear!” cried Bab. “I do so hope I shall get there in time to save
that poor cow.”
She had reached the barn, but the big door was shut and fastened. In
despair Bab hunted for an opening of some sort, and finally found a
low window. She clambered up, very much out of breath, and sat on the
window-sill peering into the darkness of the barn. Everything inside
was as black as ink, and smelled of saw-dust instead of hay. Where were
the Brownies, and _where_ was the Wooden Cow?
A sudden idea came to her. Leaning down, she whispered, “Wiggles,
Wiggles, darling, jump!”
Wiggles tried twice in vain. The third time he was in her lap,
trembling with excitement. She lifted him down inside the barn,
slipping down herself at the same time.
“Now, Wiggles,” she said aloud, “_chase ’em!_”
She clapped her hands as she spoke, and Wiggles’s scurrying, scratching
feet were heard on the floor in the dark. Bab listened with a beating
heart. Wiggles snuffed and snapped and scratched and scampered about,
and finally gave an eager bark. At the same moment the air became
filled with shrill little startled cries.
“Don’t hurt them, Wiggles!” cried Bab. “Just chase them out!”
She found the barn door, groping through the dark, and managed to open
it; and then she watched the whole tribe of Mischief Brownies escaping
frantically, and flying over the snow with Wiggles after them.
“Come back, Wiggles,” she called; and the obedient little dog returned
to her promptly. He felt quite disappointed at having to give up the
chase so soon.
“Now we’ll have to hunt for the Wooden Cow,” said Bab. “I hope they
haven’t done it any harm already.”
“They took off one horn,” said a thick wheezy voice near by; and Bab
jumped.
“Are _you_ the Wooden Cow?” she asked.
“Yes; kindly put out your hand.”
Bab obeyed, and touched a curved piece of wood.
“That’s my horn,” said the same voice, “the one that they didn’t take
off.”
“Where is the other one?” asked Bab. “They didn’t take it with them,
surely?”
“No; I think I see your dog eating it now.”
Wiggles was sitting in the doorway, cheerfully gnawing the missing
horn. Bab rescued it, much to Wiggles’s annoyance, and then exclaimed
to its rightful owner, “You poor thing! Did the Brownies hurt you?”
“Oh, no!” said the Cow, calmly. “You know I’m wooden. Nothing hurts me.
It wouldn’t have hurt me if they had cut me in pieces as they intended
to, and as they would have done if you hadn’t dropped in; but it would
have annoyed me. Because then I wouldn’t have existed any more. And
that _would_ have been disagreeable!”
“I should think so, indeed!” agreed Bab. “Now let me see how I can get
this horn on again! I wish there was a light. Never mind! I’ll hunt
about in the dark.”
As a matter of fact, it did not seem nearly so dark as it had been. Bab
saw that this was because the moon was rising. By its light drifting in
through the big open door, she could see the large, motionless figure
of the Wooden Cow, with its one horn.
“I smell paint somewhere,” said Bab, sniffing, and began to hunt for
it. Sure enough, not far away, she found a can of black paint.
“Santa Claus used that to touch me up with,” explained the Cow, with a
certain mournful pride. “I was a very handsome article when new!”
“Well,” said Bab, cheerfully, “now, _I_’m going to touch you up with
it!”
For she felt very sorry for the poor Wooden Cow, and already had
made up her mind to do all that she could to help it. She scooped up
some saw-dust from the floor, and mixed it with the black paint until
it made a thick, sticky paste. Then she plastered it on the base of
the wooden horn, and then over the place on the Cow’s head from which
it had been broken off. Then she stuck the horn on, and tied it up
securely with a ribbon from her dress. As she did this, a tiny bit of
wood—loosened, perhaps, by whatever weapon or implement the Brownies
had used to cut off the horn—came off in her hand. Hardly thinking what
she was doing, she dropped it into her pocket.
“There!” she cried gaily, jumping down from the window-sill, where,
being quite short, she had had to kneel while she worked,—“There! I
really think that will stay on!” As she spoke, she found the bit of
wood in her pocket. “I wonder why I kept that?” she thought. “Never
mind! I shall want to have something to remember the Wooden Cow by.”
“I am indebted to you,” said the Wooden Cow, with dignity.
“Now,” said Bab, “I shall have to go up to Santa Claus’s house, and
call upon him. I’ll leave Wiggles to take care of you in case those bad
Brownies come back. Wiggles, sit down and keep watch!”
Wiggles did as he was told, rather sadly. He hated to be left alone,
and he did not count the Cow as company. Bab left the barn, and hurried
away toward the lighted cottage, which she felt very sure was Santa
Claus’s house.
When she reached the house, she knocked several times before anyone
answered. At last the door opened, and a kind, merry voice said: “Come
in, come in! Is that Bab? Why, bless my soul! I’ve been expecting you
for a long time!”
It certainly was Santa Claus! How exactly like his pictures he looked!
No, kinder, and dearer, and more lovable in every way. Bab wanted to
get onto his knee at once, and put her head down on his shoulder, just
as though he were her own grandfather at home. And as a matter of fact,
that is just exactly what she did! For as soon as she had gone inside
and the door had been shut, Santa Claus sat down in a big chair and
lifted her onto his lap.
“Bless my soul!” he said again, beaming at her. “So you are the little
girl who didn’t believe in me, and thought I’d be a bore if I _were_
real? Mother Goose—dear lady!—said that you’d be along before very
long.”
Bab dropped her head onto his shoulder, and said, “I—I’m very sorry I
said those things about you!”
“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Santa Claus. “She’s crying! That will
_never_ do!”
“I’m sleepy!” Bab gave a sob. She was only a little girl, you see,
after all; and the way through the Wonderful Wood had been long.
“And—and—” She stopped, trying not to _really_ cry.
“Dear me! And _hungry!_” cried Santa Claus. “I should think so!”
And somehow, before she knew what had happened, she found herself
eating,—bread and butter, and milk, and little hot cakes, and muffins,
and preserves, and sugar-plums! _Such_ a good supper!
“Please,” said Bab, suddenly, “let me take some to Wiggles. He’s
hungry, I know; and he’s in the barn, taking care of the Wooden Cow.”
“What’s that you say?” questioned Santa Claus, looking surprised.
And then Bab told him all about the rescue of the Wooden Cow. And Santa
Claus was much pleased and interested, and seemed very grateful as
well. And he went down to the barn himself, and brought Wiggles back
with him, and gave him a wonderful supper, and said he was a splendid
dog. And Wiggles was simply delighted.
Altogether, everything was going on in the most joyful manner possible,
when Bab suddenly sprang to her feet, distressed and worried.
“What is the matter?” asked Santa Claus, kindly.
“Oh, Santa Claus!” cried poor Bab. “I had forgotten my errand again!
Mother Goose sent me to you to serve you until I had won the right to
go back to the Real World!”
“Dear, dear!” said Santa Claus, with twinkling eyes. “And do you want
to start to-night?”
“No,” said Bab, reproachfully. “No,—indeed! But,” anxiously, “tell me
what I am to do, Santa Claus. You see, now I sha’n’t be doing it _only_
because Mother Goose told me I must, but because you have been so kind
to Wiggles and me!”
Then Santa Claus gazed at her with such wonderful kindness in his smile
that she felt almost bewildered.
“Little Bab,” he said gently, “don’t you see that you have won your
freedom already, if you want it, by what you did for my Wooden Cow?”
“But—but—” stammered Bab, very much surprised, “I didn’t do it for
_that_ reason!”
“I know it. And that is just why it sets you free,” said Santa Claus.
“And now go to sleep. To-morrow you may go back to Mother Goose.”
Bab felt very sleepy. The firelight was flickering drowsily about the
room. She and Wiggles were curled up on a big fur rug that lay beside
the hearth. Santa Claus’s face smiled at her in the dancing, fading red
light.
“Good-night, Bab,” he said.
“Good-night, Santa Cl—”
Then she and Wiggles went fast asleep by the big fire in the house of
Santa Claus.
[Illustration]
VII
_Meg’s Journey to Fairyland_
[Illustration]
[Illustration]