Part 30 (2/2)

”Yes. I must go home now, or I shall be late.”

”Are you sure you know the way?” asked the lady, a little anxiously.

”You're such a little thing!”

”O, yes, mum! Go as I came.”

”Well, good by.”

”Good by, mum.”

But was Puppet _sure_ that she knew the way?

The next morning, a man walking on a road that ran by the edge of a meadow, was going to his work.

Hark! What did he hear? Was it a cry! was it a child's cry? And what was that? It sounded like a fiddle. He stopped to look around.

”I declare, we've had a high tide in the night!” said he, and trudged on.

But what was that? _That_ was certainly a child's cry.

The man looked sharply about.

”It can't be she,” he said. ”Folks from heaven wouldn't cry, even if they were let to come--at least, if they were little children.”

And so he still looked sharply about. And looking, what did he see?

He saw great haystacks of meadow hay out in the meadow, with the tide-water all about them. Then his eyes were fixed on one particular haystack. On its top, with her yellow hair and smiling face in sight, was--it could not be, though--but it was--a little girl, and dangling by the side of the stack was a guitar with a yellow face. The man waded through the water that lay between the dry land and the stack.

”Crawl down to my shoulders;” and he stood by the side of the stack till she was on his shoulders, with her arms about his neck.

[Ill.u.s.tration: {Puppet, with her guitar, sitting on top of a haystack}]

”How came you there?”

”I went everywhere to try to get home, and it was dark, all but the moon; and I saw the stack, and a board went from the ground to the top of it.”

”Sure enough, the prop.”

”And I was so tired!”

”Poor child!”

”And I never saw the water come before, and it was only wet enough to wet my feet when I got up.”

”Well, well! We'll go home and get something to eat.”

The man walked into his kitchen with the little girl and the guitar on his shoulders.

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