Part 30 (1/2)

They stopped talking, and sighing, and listened. And as they did so, they could hear words very distinctly, though they were not nearly so loud as a whisper.

”s...o...b..ll, s...o...b..ll, come up here!

My head is hot, my throat feels queer: I'm going to faint, I surely fear.

Won't some cool s...o...b..ll come up here?”

”Who are you?” asked s...o...b..ll Number One, who sat at the tiptop of the pile. ”Where are you and what is your name?”

”I'm Life-of-the-Bush, In the bush I dwell; I know not my name, And so I can't tell.”

”I can't see you,” said Number One, as he looked intently up at the branches.

”You can't?” said the Bush, ”Then you must be blind.

I'm right up here,-- But never mind.”

The voice trailed off weakly; then they heard it again:

”I'm going to faint, I really fear.

Won't some kind s...o...b..ll come up here?”

”But you are up so high. How can one get there? We have neither a ladder nor wings and we do not know how to climb.” Number One did most of the talking; he was nearest the bush.

”I'll tell you how,” said Life-of-the-Bush, stopping his rhyme and talking plainly and simply and sensibly. ”Just roll down the slope on the lawn to the foot of this bush. Make yourself as small as small can be, creep down into the ground, and take an elevator, which is always running, and you will come directly up to me.” The talking ceased, and the s...o...b..a.l.l.s began to look at each other rather uneasily.

”I can't go,” said Number Two, who was in the second row from the top. ”I always tan terribly in the sun. It's a long way down to the foot of the bush, and I should be brown as a berry before I got half way.”

”I can't go, either,” said Number Three, by his side. ”I don't tan, but I freckle, and freckles look dreadful on my fair complexion.”

”I'm sorry I can't go,” said Number Four, from his place in the corner of the third row. ”But I feel the heat terribly. My clothes are all sticking to me now.”

”It's simply out of the question for me,” said a big fat s...o...b..ll down near the ground. ”I know I'd melt before I got there. There isn't much left of me now.”

Number One was one of the fairest s...o...b..a.l.l.s of the bunch, but he was not afraid of freckles or tan. He was also one of the smallest of the lot. He looked down to the foot of the bush. It seemed a long way. The sun was certainly burning hot. He was not at all sure that he would live long enough in that sun to reach the bush. But some one should keep Life-of-the-Bush from fainting and he would try.

He turned a quick somersault off the pile down to the ground.

At just that moment something disturbed the whole pile and every ball in it tumbled down and out into the sun.

As soon as Number One touched the ground, he began to roll over, and over, and over, as fast as ever he could. It didn't take him more than a minute to reach the foot of the bush. He remembered what Life-of-the-Bush had said, made himself just as small as small could be, crept down into the ground close to the stem and took the elevator, which seemed to be running all the time.

It took quite a while to go up, but finally the elevator paused just long enough for him to get out. He found himself in a cool, rambling house, that seemed to be almost all long, narrow halls. They ran this way and that way and every--which--way. At one end of each hall, where the buds were opening, there were windows with green shades.

Everything was very clean and sweet. Right in the middle of the house he found Life-of-the-Bush. He gave her a drink of water, which he had carried in his water-proof pocket and not only kept her from fainting but made her as lively and well and happy as ever.

Life-of-the-Bush thanked the s...o...b..ll a thousand times and gave him the freedom of her beautiful house.

”Now that you are here,” she said, ”perhaps you will stay a while and help me build my house a little bigger. I must build leaves, and buds and branches and bark. I need your help.”

The s...o...b..ll stayed and helped. He found it very exciting work. He worked all day and all night, ran here and there, and never stopped for meals. He packed buds and unfolded them; he pushed out the leaves and built out the ends of branches; he made bark, pressed it till it was hard and coloured it grey.

Day after day he worked at his tasks as if they gave him the greatest joy in the world. But now and then Life-of-the-Bush saw him gazing out of the window, as if he were a bit homesick, to get out of doors again.