I hope you remember that I told you that the story of Barty and the
Good Wolf was the kind of story which could go on and on, and that
when it stopped it could begin again.
It was like that when Tim's mother told it to Tim, and really that was
what Tim liked best about it--that sudden way it had of beginning all
over again with something new just when you felt quite mournful
because you thought it had come to an end. There are very few stories
like that,--very few indeed,--so you have to be thankful when you find
one.
This new part began with Barty finding an old book in the attic of his
house. He liked the attic because you never knew what you might find
there. Once he had even found an old sword which had belonged to his
grandfather and which _might_ have killed a man if his grandfather had
worn it in war.
One rainy day he found the book. It was a rather fat book, and it had
been read so much that it was falling to pieces. On the first page
there was a picture of a very queer looking man. He was dressed in
clothes made of goat skin; he carried a gun on one shoulder and a
parrot on the other, and his name was printed under the picture and it
was--Robinson Crusoe.
Now, Barty was a very good reader for his age. He had to spell very
few words when he read aloud, so he sat down at once on the attic
floor and began to read about Robinson Crusoe as fast as ever he
could. That day he was late to his dinner and was late for bed, and as
the days went on he was late so often that his mother thought he must
be losing his appetite. But he was not. He was only so delighted with
Robinson Crusoe that he could not remember the time.
That week the Good Wolf was away on very important business, and if
Barty had not had his wonderful book to read he might have felt
lonely. The Good Wolf had taught him a special little tune to play on
his whistle when he wanted to call _him_ without calling all the other
animals.
[Illustration: He was so delighted with Robinson Crusoe that he could
not remember the time]
The day Barty finished reading his book he tucked it under his arm and
ran into the wood to his secret place and played his tune, and in less
than two minutes he turned round and saw the Good Wolf trotting
towards him out of the green tunnel.
Barty ran and hugged him, and while he was hugging him the book under
his arm fell down to the grass. "What is that?" asked the Good Wolf,
and he went to it and sniffed it over carefully.
"It is a book I have been reading," answered Barty. "It is about a man
whose name was Robinson Crusoe. He was shipwrecked on a desert
island."
"What is a desert island?" inquired the Good Wolf.
"It is a perfectly beautiful place with a sea all around it. Oh! I
wonder if there are any desert islands around here!"
The Good Wolf looked thoughtful. He sat down and gently scratched his
left ear with his hind foot.
"Do you want one?" he asked. "Let us make ourselves comfortable and
talk it over."
So they sat down and Barty leaned against him with one arm round his
neck and began to explain. "A desert island is a place where no one
lives but you. There are no other people on it and there are no houses
and no shops and you have to make yourself a hut to live in. And
beautiful things grow wild--cocoanuts and big bunches of grapes. And
there are goats and parrots you can tame so that they sit on your
shoulder and talk to you."
"Do the goats sit on your shoulder and talk to you?" asked the Good
Wolf, looking a little surprised.
"No, only the parrots," said Barty. "The goats follow you about and
are friends with you. The only trouble sometimes is cannibals."
The Good Wolf shook his head. "I never saw a cannibal," he remarked.
"They are not nice," said Barty, "they are savage black men who want
to eat people--but you can frighten them away with your gun," he ended
quite cheerfully.
Then he told about Robinson Crusoe's man Friday and about everything
else he could remember, and the story was so interesting and exciting
that several times the Good Wolf quite panted. "Why, I should like it
myself," he said, "I really should."
"If we only knew where there _was_ a desert island," said Barty.
The Good Wolf looked thoughtful again and once more scratched his left
ear with his right foot, but there was an expression on his face which
made Barty open his eyes very wide.
"_Do_ you know where there is one?" he cried out. "You look as if--"
The Good Wolf stood up and shook his pink ear _very hard_--and then he
shook his blue one. "Nothing flew out," said Barty. "I saw nothing at
all."
"What flew out did not fly out here," answered the Good Wolf. "It flew
out in the place where it was wanted--ten thousand miles away."
Barty caught his breath and clapped his hands. "I know something nice
is going to happen," he shouted, "and it's something about a desert
island."
"Get on my back and clasp your arms around my neck and shut your
eyes," the Good Wolf said. "This is not a trifling matter."
Barty scrambled up joyfully and did as he was told. The Good Wolf's
fur felt soft and thick when he laid his face against it. He shut his
eyes tight and then just for a few moments he felt as if they both
were almost flying over the ground. They went so fast, indeed, and the
air sung so in his ears as he rushed through it that it made him feel
drowsy and he soon fell asleep.
* * * * *
When he felt himself waking he was quite warm, as if the sun were
shining on him. There was a sound in his ears still; it was not the
rushing of the air but a sound like rushing of water, which he had
never heard before. He had never seen the sea and knew nothing about
waves except what he had read in the story of Robinson Crusoe.
He sat up and stared straight before him and his eyes grew bigger, and
bigger, and bigger. He was sitting on a snow-white beach and there
before him was spread the great blue ocean, and its waves were
swelling and breaking into snowy foam, and rushing and spreading and
curling on the sand.
After he had looked straight before him for quite five minutes he
turned and looked round about him. What he saw was a curve of beach
and some cliffs rising from behind it. And on top of the cliffs were
big leaved plants and straight, slender palm trees which waved and
waved like spreading green feathers.
"I wonder if cocoanuts grow on them," said Barty. "That would be
_very_ nice: Robinson Crusoe found cocoanuts."
When he said Robinson Crusoe that made him remember. "Why, it's a
desert island," he said. "It's a desert island!"
Then, of course, he remembered about the Good Wolf and he turned round
to look for him. And there he sat on the sand a few feet away.
"Were we wrecked?" asked Barty.
"Well, not exactly _wrecked_," answered the Good Wolf, "but here we
are."
"Where is here?" asked Barty.
"Ten thousand miles from everybody," said the Good Wolf.
"Oh," said Barty, and his mouth was very round.
"You _said_ a desert island," remarked the Good Wolf, watching him.
"Yes," answered Barty, trying to speak cheerfully, because he did not
want to hurt the Good Wolf's feelings by seeming dissatisfied.
"And--and it is _very_ nice and desert, isn't it?"
"It is," answered the Good Wolf. "I chose the kind--like Robinson
Crusoe's, you know."
"It is a very nice one," said Barty, "and I am much obliged to you."
Then he dug his toe into the sand a little. "I am just thinking about
my mother," he said while he was doing it.
The Good Wolf looked as cheerful as ever. "I had something in my pink
ear which I shook out as we passed your cottage," he chuckled. "It's a
kind of scent like mignonette and it makes mothers forget the time.
It's very useful in case of long journeys, because when you come back
they never say 'where have you been?' They don't know how long you
have been away. I shook out a whole lot when we passed your house and
I heard your mother say 'how sweet the mignonette smells to-day!'"
Barty's face was quite cheerful by the time the Good Wolf had
finished. "I'm so glad I know you," he said. "You can do everything,
can't you?" The Good Wolf looked thoughtful again (which makes three
times), and he scratched his ear with his hind foot more seriously
than ever.
"Look here," he said. "There is something I shall be obliged to tell
you."
"What is it?" asked Barty, feeling very much interested.
"I can't do _everything_ on desert islands."
"Can't you shake things out of your ears?" exclaimed Barty.
"No," answered the Good Wolf. "I won't deceive you. I can't."