Hand in hand we tiptoed through the forest to our trap. There was something in it that took fright at our approach and rushed panic-stricken round and round the interior of the trap, uttering its alarm-note, which sounded like the jangling of a whole string of bells. I seized the strangely beautiful creature; it neither attempted to bite nor scratch, but crouched in my arms, trembling and eying me. Delighted with the lovely, tame animal, we bore it tenderly back to the camp and placed it on my blanket. Hand in hand we stood before it, awed by the sight of this beast, so long believed to be extinct. "It is too good to be true," sighed Dorothy, clasping her white hands under her chin and gazing at the dingue in rapture. "Yes," said I, solemnly, "you and I, my child, are face to face with the fabled dingue--_Dingus solitarius_! Let us continue to gaze at it, reverently, prayerfully, humbly--" Dorothy yawned--probably with excitement. We were still mutely adoring the dingue when Professor Smawl burst into the tent at a hand-gallop, bawling hoarsely for her kodak and note-book. Dorothy seized her triumphantly by the arm and pointed at the dingue, which appeared to be frightened to death. "What!" cried Professor Smawl, scornfully; "_that_ a dingue? Rubbish!" "Madam," I said, firmly, "it is a dingue! It's a monodactyl! See! It has but a single toe!" "Bosh!" she retorted; "it's got four!" "Four!" I repeated, blankly. "Yes; one on each foot!" "Of course," I said; "you didn't suppose a monodactyl meant a beast with one leg and one toe!" But she laughed hatefully and declared it was a woodchuck. We squabbled for a while until I saw the significance of her attitude. The unfortunate woman wished to find a dingue first and be accredited with the discovery. I lifted the dingue in both hands and shook the creature gently, until the chiming ding-dong of its protestations filled our ears like sweet bells jangled out of tune. Pale with rage at this final proof of the dingue's identity, she seized her camera and note-book. "I haven't any time to waste over that musical woodchuck!" she shouted, and bounced out of the tent. "What have you discovered, dear?" cried Dorothy, running after her. "A mammoth!" bawled Professor Smawl, triumphantly; "and I'm going to photograph him!" Neither Dorothy nor I believed her. We watched the flight of the infatuated woman in silence. And now, at last, the tragic shadow falls over my paper as I write. I was never passionately attached to Professor Smawl, yet I would gladly refrain from chronicling the episode that must follow if, as I have hitherto attempted, I succeed in sticking to the unornamented truth.