CHAPTER XVIII

THE WELL IN THE WOOD

With his usual show of importance, the Donkey took entire charge of the expedition to The Well.

“To begin with,” said he, “we need a guide.”

“Oho!” cried the Rabbit. “I thought _you_ knew the way.”

“We need a guide,” repeated the Donkey, calmly, “not to show the way;--I’ll attend to that,--but to tell stories; that’s what guides are for. Now, then, whom can we get?”

“The ’Possum tells the best stories,” said the Yellow Dog; “but he’s fat and he’s slow.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said the Donkey. “Go and hire him. And--stop a minute. Can you get this check cashed for me?”

“I can try the Pine-Tree,” said Colonel. “That’s the only bank around here.”

“Pine-Tree shillings are rather heavy, but they’ll have to do,” said the Donkey. “In all exploring expeditions,” he went on, as the Yellow Dog departed on his errands, “the question of funds is of first importance. And now,”--to the Rabbit,--“in what direction is The Well?”

“I don’t know,” replied the Rabbit, a little sulkily. “According to my map--”

“Pooh!” said the Donkey. “According to your _target_ it’s north, east, south and west. Shoot such a map! However, we’ll soon find out.” He turned to Buddie. “Will you kindly break off a branch from that witch-hazel bush? Get the straightest one, and trim off the leaves and twigs. There! Now stand it on end, and when it is perfectly balanced take your hand away.”

Buddie followed these directions, and when she removed her hand the witch-hazel stick fell--it really seemed to jump--toward a big birch-tree at one end of the amphitheater.

“There’s your direction,” said the Donkey. “All you have to do now is to follow your nose.”

[Illustration]

“That sounds easy,” said the Rabbit.

“It _is_ easy--if your nose is straight,” said the Donkey. “Of course there wouldn’t be any use following such a wabbly nose as yours. _I’ll_ go ahead.”

At this point the Yellow Dog returned with the ’Possum and a bag of Pine-Tree shillings, and the expedition set forward in the following order: the Donkey, the Rabbit, Buddie, the Yellow Dog, and the ’Possum.

“I wonder what direction we really are going in,” Colonel remarked to Buddie.

“That’s easily found out,” said the Donkey, whose long ears had caught the remark, “if Just Buddie will wet her finger and hold it up in the air.”

Buddie did so.

“One side’s colder than the other, isn’t it?” asked the Donkey.

“It doesn’t seem so,” answered Buddie.

“Oh, it must be. Try again.”

So Buddie again wet her forefinger and held it up, and a little puff of wind came along and cooled the farther side of it.

“Oh, yes,” said she; “it’s the side toward you.”

“Then we’re traveling north, just as I thought,” said the Donkey. “You will also observe that the farther we go the flatter the ground becomes. The earth, you know, flattens at the poles--not all at once, but gradually.”

“Isn’t he dreadfully wise!” Buddie whispered to Colonel.

“He’s a wonder,” replied the Yellow Dog, who hadn’t a bit of envy in his make-up, and always gave credit where credit was due.

For some time the little party wound through the wood in silence, the Donkey following his nose, the others following him. Presently the leader called a halt to wait for the guide, who was some distance in the rear.

“Time for a story,” he announced, when the ’Possum at last came lumbering along, puffing at every step.

“What shall it be?” asked the guide, when he could get breath enough to speak.

“A fairy story,” ventured Buddie.

“I don’t know any fairy stories,” said the ’Possum.

“A good ghost story would suit me,” said the Donkey.

“I never tell ghost stories by daylight,” said the ’Possum.

“Oh, well, give us anything, only be quick about it,” said the Rabbit, who was impatient for the journey’s end.

“Last summer,” began the guide, “I was fishing for trout in the headwaters of Flute River.”

A long pause.

“Well?” said the Yellow Dog.

“It weighed six pounds,” finished the guide.

“That’s the way to tell a story,” said the Donkey, rising. “Skip the details and get at the important facts. Forward! March!”

They resumed their journey, and before long the sound of falling waters came to their ears.

“We’re getting there,” remarked the Donkey, complacently. “This beats traveling on the rings of a target.”

To this fling the Rabbit made no reply. Probably he did not hear it. His thoughts were of his precious nose. At last, fortune favoring, he was to unravel the great mystery of his existence. Now or never should he find out why he wabbled his nose. Trembling with excitement, he bounded ahead, and when the others came up to The Well, they found him leaning over the curb staring into the dark interior.

The Well was picturesquely located on a sloping ledge which formed one bank of the river, at the foot of a tinkling cascade. Swirling stones in floodtime had made it--had bored down through the solid rock as neatly as a diamond drill could do the work. I have seen a great many of these wells, but none exactly like the one Buddie described to me; for this had a curb around it, and above it, supported by two posts, was the legend:

+---------------------------------------------+ | As round as an apple, as deep as a cup, | | And all the king’s horses can’t pull it up. | +---------------------------------------------+

“Well, here we are,” said the Donkey to the Rabbit. “Go ahead and find out why you wabble your nose. I confess I am rather curious to know.”

“Perhaps,” said the Rabbit, nervously, “we’d better ask about the Guinea-Pig first. He isn’t here, but some one can inquire for him.”

“What does the Guinea-Pig want to know?” asked the Donkey, who never had met that tearful little creature.

“He wants to know why his eyes fall out when you hold him up by the tail,” the Rabbit replied.

“For that matter,” said Colonel, “I should like to know why a yellow dog isn’t considered as respectable as a dog of any other color.”

“And I,” said the ’Possum, “should like to know why I dislike the taste of persimmons and can’t eat ’em.”

“And I,” said the Donkey, “should like to find out the best singing method. How about Just Buddie?”

“Nothing--that is, nothing I think of just now,” she replied hastily.

“Well, suppose you ask for the rest of us,” said the Donkey. “All in favor of Just Buddie’s asking all the questions will say ‘Aye’; contrary-minded, ‘No.’ The ayes appear to have it. Motion carried unanimously.”

“Which shall I ask first?” said Buddie, as she knelt at the curb and the others gathered about her.

“Oh, ask about the Rabbit,” said the Donkey. “Let’s get that off our minds. Lean over as far as you can, and holler at the top of your voice. It may be a long way to the bottom.”

Clutching the curb tightly with both hands, Buddie bent over as far as she dared. As she did so something passed before her eyes.

It was the long-forgotten bouquet of Enchanter’s Nightshade, which had worked loose from her hair-ribbon, and now vanished in the depths of The Well.