Part 2 (1/2)

As Barty and the Wolf walked along together they talked about Robinson Crusoe in the book.

”His s.h.i.+p was wrecked on the rocks and broken all to pieces,” said Barty. ”But _we_ did not come in a s.h.i.+p, did we?”

”No,” answered the Wolf.

”And barrels and boxes full of biscuits and things floated about in the water and he swam after them. It would be rather nice to see a box of biscuits now, wouldn't it?” Barty said.

”Is your belt very loose?” asked the Good Wolf.

”It never was as loose as this before,” said Barty.

”Buckle it a little tighter,” said the Good Wolf. So Barty buckled it one hole tighter.

They walked along the sh.o.r.e till they came to a place where they could begin to climb the green cliff. Then they climbed and climbed and climbed and the gra.s.s grew greener and thicker and there were flowers growing on every side and bushes with birds singing on them, and the birds were all sorts of lovely colors. Some of them stopped singing just to look at Barty.

”They have never seen any boys before,” remarked the Good Wolf.

”Do you think they like them?” asked Barty.

”You ought to go and see,” the Good Wolf answered.

On one of the nearest bushes a bird was sitting which was prettier than all the rest. It had a white body and breast and soft blue wings and crest. Barty crept towards it with gentle little steps. He hoped very much that he would not frighten it. It did not look frightened.

It put its head on one side and watched him. Then Barty took his whistle out of his pocket and softly played the tune the Good Wolf had taught him. The bird put his head on the other side and listened as if he were pleased. He was very attentive until Barty had finished and then suddenly he flew up in the air and fluttered 'round and 'round about, singing the tune himself.

”He is answering me!” cried out Barty, joyfully. ”He learned the tune in a minute.”

”He is a clever bird,” said the Good Wolf. ”Perhaps he knows a whole lot of things.”

”I believe he likes me,” said Barty. ”I believe he does.”

”All birds know a good thing when they see it,” was what the Good Wolf said with his wisest air. ”All animals do. I am an animal myself. You never threw a stone at a bird, did you, by the way?”

Barty stood quite still and looked at the ground, thinking very hard.

”I never threw a stone at anything,” he said when he looked up.

”Ah,” said the Good Wolf. ”Such a _good_ plan that: Never to throw a stone at anything. In fact it's a good plan never to throw _anything_ at _anything_. I shouldn't be surprised if you find your Desert Island ever so much nicer just because you're like that. Animals know, I tell you. So do fairies. Look at the bird!” Barty was looking at it. It flew a few yards ahead of him and perched on a slender young tree, making funny little chirping noises.

”It sounds--” said Barty, ”why, it sounds as if it were saying 'Trot along, trot along,' just as you did when we went to the Snow Feast.”

”I did not see it at the Snow Feast,” the Good Wolf said. ”But perhaps it had a relation there. If it says 'trot along,' let us trot. Perhaps it is clever enough to notice how loose your belt is, and it thinks it can show us something to eat which will make it tighter.”

So Barty trotted along and the Good Wolf trotted with him. The bird with the blue crest flew before them and Barty was quite sure it was showing them the way somewhere, because every now and then it stopped and perched on a bough and sang its little song. They went up the hill and up and up until they came to a place where they suddenly found themselves on the edge of a green hollow, and the minute they saw it the Good Wolf cried out, ”_There's_ something we want,” and trotted down as fast as he could to a big, clear pool which lay at the bottom of the hollow, and began to lap quickly.

”I want it, too,” shouted Barty, and ran down the green slope himself.

He was just going to kneel down when he saw his bird fluttering about under a tall tree, and when he looked up he saw the tree was a very funny one. It was like a palm tree but it had great b.a.l.l.s hanging from it and something queer was going on high up among the branches. The leaves were shaking as if things were moving about among them, and Barty was rather startled because he heard chattering, squeaking little voices. The sounds were so funny that for a minute he forgot that he was thirsty.

”That isn't birds,” he said to the Good Wolf. ”It isn't singing and it isn't chirping. What do you think it is?”