CHAPTER V

THE GUINEA-PIG WHOSE EYES FELL OUT

“Really, I didn’t mean to pick you up by the tail,” said Buddie, turning over the leaves in search of the missing eyes.

“That’s what they all say,” sobbed the Guinea-Pig. “Can’t you find them? It never took so long before.”

“Here’s one! What a teeny little eye! And here’s the other! How do you put them back?” Buddie asked the Rabbit, who, mirror in hand, was again studying his nose.

“Ask the Guinea-Pig; they’re _his_ eyes,” replied the Rabbit. “I have troubles of my own.”

Buddie took the Guinea-Pig in her lap.

“If I’m not doing it right you must tell me,” she said. “And _do_ stop sobbing; it shakes your head so I can’t do a thing.”

“I can’t stop,” blubbered the Guinea-Pig. “If I don’t cry I have to sob.”

“Well, _cry_ a little, then, for a change. You won’t shake so.”

“But I _can’t_ cry,” wailed the unhappy Guinea-Pig. “My eyes are out. Oh! oh!”

He gave a little squeak, more of fright than of pain, for Buddie had grasped him so tightly that he couldn’t shake, and scarcely could breathe.

“There!” she exclaimed triumphantly, slipping back the eyes. “Now you’re all right, and I’ll never pick you up by the tail again, you dear, dear little thing!”

She stroked him affectionately, but the Guinea-Pig, instead of cheering up, wept like a baby. His brown eyes fairly streamed tears.

“Oh! oh!” he cried. “Everything’s upside down!”

“I know it, dearie,” said Buddie, soothingly. She was getting used to the topsy-turviness of the wood, and she was not the least surprised to hear the Guinea-Pig wail forth:

“You’re standing on your head! You’re standing on your head!”

“It only _seems_ so to you,” Buddie replied. “You shouldn’t live in such a ’diculous wood, you know.”

“You’ve put his eyes in upside down, stupid!” said the Rabbit. “You ought to be more careful.”

“Dear! dear!” exclaimed Buddie, in dismay. “What’s to be done now?”

“Pick him up by the tail again,” was the brief advice.

“Oh! oh!” bawled the Guinea-Pig. “Must I go through all that again?”

“Don’t take on so,” soothed Buddie. “It’s for your own good. And we shan’t lose the eyes this time. We really shan’t.”

As gently as possible she lifted the Guinea-Pig by the tail, and when his eyes fell out she caught them in her hand.

“Be sure to put the right eye on the right side and the left eye on the left side,” said the Rabbit, “Otherwise he’ll be cross-eyed.”

“I wonder which is which,” said the puzzled Buddie. “They ought to be marked.”

“You know the old rule for telling the left one. It’s the one you pick up second.”

“I don’t see why,” said Buddie, who had never heard the old rule.

“If you pick up one, the other is _left_, isn’t it?”

“But does it matter which one you pick up first?”

“Certainly not. How stupid you are!”

“Well, I’ll try this one,” said Buddie.

“That’s _right_,” said the Rabbit.

“There! I do hope I haven’t made any mistake,” said Buddie, when the operation was over. “Goodness! What are you crying about now? Do your eyes pain you?” For the Guinea-Pig continued to weep as if his little heart were broken.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” said the Rabbit. “He’s that way nearly all the time. Tell her the story of your life, old fellow,” he suggested, patting his weeping friend on the shoulder.

“Yes, do!” encouraged Buddie. “It must be very sad,” she remarked to the Rabbit.

“Yes--when you’ve heard it for the first time,” he replied. “Come,”--to the Guinea-Pig,--“cheer up!”

“Perhaps if it’s so sad he may not want to tell us,” suggested Buddie, who was beginning to feel a bit tearful herself.

“Oh, he likes to talk about it,” said the Rabbit. “Everybody likes to talk about his own affairs. There’s my nose, for instance. Go on, old fellow. ‘I was born--’”

The Guinea-Pig dried his eyes with the back of his paw, sniffed once or twice and began:

“I was born in a large wire cage, in a doctor’s office, at the age of one.”

“How _could_ you be?” Buddie interrupted. “You couldn’t be one year old when you were born, you know.”

“He means one _second_,” explained the Rabbit. “Don’t interrupt, or he’ll start bawling again.”

“Next door to us lived another family of guinea-pigs,” went on Brown Eyes. “There were two daughters--one of them the sweetest, dearest--”

Here the Guinea-Pig broke down, and it was some time before he was able to resume his story.

“One day some visitors came to the office, and the doctor took me out and exhibited me to them. ‘Is he old enough to kill?’ asked one of the visitors. ‘Just the right age and weight, two hundred and fifty grams,’ replied the doctor. And before I could realize the meaning of these dreadful words he seized a glittering instrument and plunged it into my body.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Buddie, horrified. A warning glance from the Rabbit checked further comment.

“For twenty-four hours I lay senseless; and when I came to--alas! what was there to come to?--I was alone in the world! All, all were gone, the old familiar faces; and the doctor was looking into my cage and saying: ‘Well, well! You’re a tough little Guinea-Pig, and no mistake.’”

A fresh flood of tears delayed the recital, and the Rabbit, who was anxious to be off, looked his impatience. With an effort the Guinea-Pig continued:

“I had tuberculosis in March, diphtheria in April, tetanus in May, and anthrax in June; but--but I recovered--”

“Of course you did,” said the Rabbit, cheerily; “otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Well, I’ve got to be moving along, as I have several important matters to attend to.”

“There! Don’t cry any more, Brown Eyes,” said Buddie, wiping the Guinea-Pig’s eyes with a corner of her dress.

“By the way,” said the Rabbit, “how would you like to look in on the Greenwood Club this afternoon? You can come as my guest, you know.”

“Ever so much!” replied Buddie, happily.

“Doctor Goose is to read a paper; and there will be games and singing and the usual good time. We get together once a week, and even the Guinea-Pig forgets his troubles. Don’t you, old fellow?”

But Brown Eyes only snuffled.

“If you will meet me at the Corner at two o’clock,” said the Rabbit to Buddie, “I shall be happy to escort you to the Club. Good morning!” He bowed and hurried away.

“What corner?” Buddie called after him. “_What corner?_ WHAT CORNER?”

But only an echo came back; and not, oddly enough, an echo of her own words, but something that sounded like

“His no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ose-- Wabble his nose-- Why does he wabble his nose?”

And, like everything else in this queer wood, the echo was upside down. That is to say, it began faintly and grew clearer, clearer, clearer, until the wood rang with it.

It seemed to come from somewhere overhead, and Buddie looked up. As she did so, the interlacing tree-tops melted away, and the patches of sky ran together and became one big sheet of blue. Gradually she lowered her eyes, and--

There she was back in Beavertown, in the meadow bordering the little river. And there was the Laziest Beaver, lying in the sun and fanning himself with his tail. And there was the Yellow Dog, just finishing the chorus of his song, _Nobody Knows_.

Now wouldn’t that surprise you, Little One?