“What has become of it?” he cried, jumping up and looking under the table. He searched behind the chairs, in the closets, and even in the hall. In each new place he cried out over and over again, “Who took my dinner? Who took my dinner?” While he was thus occupied Snythergen had an opportunity to eat, but he was in such haste to be done before his tormentor looked out of the window again, that he entirely forgot his table manners and crammed and stuffed his mouth with his twigs. The farmer and his wife had found nothing out of the way upstairs to explain the noise on the roof, and when they returned the little man was still fussing about, looking in the china closet, the napkin and silver drawers, and other absurd places. “What’s up now?” demanded the farmer, who was getting a bit tired of the tree doctor’s queer ways. The farmer’s wife too was looking on suspiciously. She did not fancy having a stranger poking into her drawers and closets. The physician tried to explain but they only laughed at him. “The very idea!” cried the farmer’s wife. “Nobody could come into the room and take your dinner away without your knowing it!” “Besides, who would want something to eat that bad around here,” said the farmer. “Everybody knows we feed every tramp that comes along!” The little doctor felt uncomfortable and embarrassed because they laughed at him, and he barely touched the second plate of food the farmer served him. Snythergen was right, he was too excited to eat. Scarcely could he wait until the dinner was over for the farmer to drive him to town to get the band. [Illustration: Thereafter he would strike a tree-like pose not so difficult to hold] The doctor’s departure was Snythergen’s cue to escape. Cautiously he stole away from the house and waited for an opportunity to cross the lake. The man next door was plowing, and Snythergen had to be very careful. While the man’s back was turned he ran as fast as possible, but when he plowed toward him, Snythergen had to stand motionless and trust that his altered position would not be seen; and whatever position Snythergen’s limbs were in when the farmer turned toward him, had to be held while the plow traveled the whole length of the field. Once when the man approached, Snythergen was in the lake with one root raised ready to step, and he dared not lower his root or make any other movement until the farmer had walked the whole distance and had turned his back again. Thus he stood balancing himself for fifteen minutes, and to make matters worse he had been caught with his branches pointing to the sky. The painful experience of holding this position taught him a lesson, and thereafter when the plow neared the end of the row, he would strike a tree-like pose not so difficult to hold. Luckily the farmer was near-sighted, and failed to remark the strange apparition of a tree wading across the lake up to its branch pits in water.