The shadow that seemed to fall over everything caused Buster John and Sweetest Susan and Drusilla to run to the door. It was not a very dark shadow, but it was dark enough to attract their attention and excite their alarm. They were not yet used to their surroundings, for, although a great many things they saw and heard were familiar to them, they could not forget that they had come through the water in the spring. They could not forget that Mr. Thimblefinger was the smallest grown person they had ever seen,--even if he were a grown person,--nor could they forget that they had never seen a rabbit so wonderfully large as Mr. Rabbit. Drusilla expressed the feelings of all when she remarked that she felt "skittish." They were ready to take alarm at anything that might happen. Therefore they ran to the door to see what the shadow meant. Finally they looked up at the sky, or what seemed to be the sky, and there they saw, covering a large part of it, the vague outline of a huge jug. The shadow wobbled about and wavered, and ripples of light and shadow played about it and ran down to the horizon on all sides. An astronomer, seeing these fantastic wobblings and waverings of light and shadow in our firmament, would straightway send a letter or a cable dispatch to the newspapers, declaring that an unheard-of convulsion was shaking the depths of celestial space. And, indeed, it was all very puzzling, even to the children, but Drusilla, who had less imagination than any of the rest, accounted for it all by one bold stroke of common sense. "Shuh! 'T ain't nothin' 't all!" she exclaimed. "Dey done got froo wid dinner at home, an' ol' Aunt 'Cindy done put de buttermilk-jug back in de spring." Sweetest Susan caught her breath with a gasp, and laughed hysterically. She had been very much alarmed. "I expect that's what it is," said Buster John, but there was some doubt in his tone. He turned to Mr. Thimblefinger, who had followed them. "What time is it, please?" Mr. Thimblefinger drew his watch from his pocket with as much dignity as he could assume, and held his head gravely on one side. "It is now--let me see--_ahem!_--it is now precisely thirteen minutes and eleven seconds after one o'clock." "Is that the jug in the spring?" asked Sweetest Susan, pointing to the huge black shadow that was now wobbling and wavering more slowly. Mr. Thimblefinger shaded his eyes with his hand and examined the shadow critically. "Yes, that is the jug--the light hurts my eyes--yes, certainly, that is the jug." Presently a volume of white vapor shot out from the shadow. It was larger than the largest comet, and almost as brilliant. "What is that?" asked Sweetest Susan. Mr. Thimblefinger felt almost as thoughtful as a sure-enough man of science. "That," said he, "is an emanation--an exhalation, you might say--that we frequently witness in our atmosphere." "A which?" asked Buster John. "Well," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, clearing his throat, "it's--er--an emanation."