With that he leaped nimbly from log to log and disappeared under the wood-pile. The children went down to see what he would do. They were so astonished at his droll appearance that they forgot their curiosity. "Is that a fairy, brother?" asked Sweetest Susan in a low voice. "No!" exclaimed Buster John with a lofty air, but not loudly. "Don't you see he's not a bit like the fairies we read about in books? Why, he was afraid of a wood-sawyer." "That's so," Sweetest Susan rejoined. "He's a witch, dat what he is," said Drusilla. "Shucks!" whispered Buster John. He heard the voice of Mr. Thimblefinger under the wood-pile. "I've found it, I've found it!" he cried. And presently he made his appearance, dragging the knife after him. He tugged at it until he got it out, and then he sat down on a chip, wiped the perspiration from his eyes, and fanned himself with a thin flake of pine bark no bigger than a bee's wing. "Pick me up and let's go on top of the wood-pile," said Mr. Thimblefinger after a while. "It's suffocating down here. Ouch! don't tickle me, if you do I shall have a fit." Buster John had lifted him by placing a thumb and forefinger under his arms. "And don't squeeze me, neither," the little man went on. "I was cramped under that bark until I'm as sore as a boil all over. Goodness! I wish I was at home!" "Where do you live?" asked Sweetest Susan when they were once more seated on the wood-pile. "Not far from here, not very far," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, shaking his head sagely, "but it is a different country--oh, entirely different." Sweetest Susan edged away from the little man at this, and Drusilla stretched her eyes. "What is it like?" asked Buster John boldly. Mr. Thimblefinger reflected a while, and then shook his head. "I can show it to you," he said, "but I can't describe it." "Pick 'im up an' show 'im to your ma!" exclaimed Drusilla suddenly. "No, no, no!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger, leaping to his feet. "That would spoil everything. No grown person living in this country has ever seen me. No, no! don't try that. It would spoil your luck. I wouldn't be here now if the Dolls' Grandmother hadn't begged me to come with her last night. But I'll come to see you,"--he pointed at Drusilla. "I'll come often." "I des said dat fer ter see what you'd say," protested Drusilla. "You wan' gwine ter take 'im, wuz you, honey?" This question was addressed to Buster John, who scorned to answer it. "Grown people wouldn't understand me," Mr. Thimblefinger explained. "They know a great deal too much to suit me." "How do you get to your country?" inquired Buster John, who was keen for an adventure. "The nearest way is by the spring," replied Mr. Thimblefinger. "That is the only way you could go." "Can I go too?" asked Sweetest Susan. "And Drusilla?" "Oh, of course," said Mr. Thimblefinger, shrugging his shoulders. "One can go or all can go." "Do you go down the spring branch?" asked Buster John.