Part 4 (1/2)

”Nor did I; we people of the woods do not wait to be spoken to--we are wiser than you. But do you really want some honey? If so, come with me and I will show you where you can find it.”

”But who are you? I never saw you before,” said Laura, forgetting that the little creature had already shown himself to be easily angered.

”Who am I? What difference is that to you?” said the queer little object. ”Honey is honey; if you want some, come with me; if you don't, stay where you are.”

”Oh, really,” said Laura; ”you are very kind. I do like honey, and it would be very nice with my dry oat-cake;” and, forgetting her staff, she followed the elf into the woods. He led her to a hollow tree, and, flinging his rabbit-skin away, clambered into the cavity, and came out with a great ma.s.s of glistening honey dripping from its white comb.

”Here; now let me see you eat it,” said the elf, putting on his rabbit-skin again, and laying the honey-comb on a broad leaf at her feet. Laura sat down and dipped her oat-cake into the honey.

”It is delicious,” said Laura. ”Won't you have some?”

”I? No, indeed,” said the elf, standing off and gazing at her curiously from beneath his bushy little eyebrows.

”Don't you care for it?”

”No; I'd rather sharpen my teeth on an acorn.”

”But that is so bitter.”

”It suits my digestion. I am a planter of bitter herbs.”

”Are you? Oh, then you must know my good friend Grim?”

”To be sure I do! He came to see me a few days ago.”

Laura thought Grim must be mistaken in his belief that the elves were fond of teasing children, for surely this one had been kind to her, when suddenly she remembered that she had not her staff with her. She jumped up hastily, crying out:

”Oh, my staff! my staff! I must go back and find it.”

”Ha! ha!” laughed the elf, evidently amused at her alarm.

”Which way must I go?” asked Laura, anxiously.

”Any way you please, my dear. Is not the honey so good as it was?”

”Oh yes, yes, it is just as nice, and I thank you ever so much for it.

Now, please, dear Mr. Elf, let me go for my staff.”

”I am not keeping you, am I?” laughed the elf, beginning a strange sort of dance, rubbing his hands together, and giving a series of jerks to the rabbit-skin.

Laura was ready to cry with vexation and alarm, but something seemed to tell her that she must control herself and not let this mischievous creature know how she felt; so, springing to her feet, she said, ”I, too, can dance--see,” and she waltzed away as if she were in a ball-room.

”Hurrah!” shouted the elf; ”that is capital.”

”Shall I teach you how to do it?” asked Laura, stopping to get breath.

”Yes; let me see the steps; go slowly. Oh, your feet are so big and clumsy I cannot copy you.”

”But, Mr. Elf, you do it beautifully--really you do. Now show me, please, where the oak-trees are, that I may find my staff.”