CHAPTER XV
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.”