“I never heard of any,” said Blasterjinx, when the question had been repeated to him. “I am sure you will like the Wreath,” he went on, “for a good friend of yours lives not far from here.” “How can you know he is a friend of ours?” asked Sancho Wing in surprise. “You do not know who our friends are!” “I know this man is your friend just the same, but I am not going to tell you who he is because I want it to be a surprise.” “Have I ever seen him?” said Squeaky. “I don’t think so,” said Blasterjinx, “but I am sure he has been in Snythergen’s house.” “Where does he live?” asked Snythergen. [Illustration: “Stop the top, stop the top!” bellowed Squeaky] “In a very big house about a mile from here. You can visit him later on, but first I want you to spend a week with me and see some of the sights on the Wreath. Your friend overworked himself last Christmas and needs another week of rest.” It made Snythergen homesick to go to Blasterjinx’ house and meet his parents, for they were small like his own father and mother and their house was not very large either, except Blasterjinx’ room which was a separate building covering most of the yard. Blasterjinx’ mother was a kind soul and made her visitors feel very much at home with the aid of doughnuts, cookies and pies. Somehow this made Snythergen feel better, although his mother and father were always in his thoughts. The three friends told Blasterjinx about their adventures, and he became so interested he wanted to play tree at once. He tried on Snythergen’s suit of green but it was not big enough in the waist for him, and when he squeezed into it the bark began to rip. “You will tear it,” cried Blasterjinx’ mother, “and then Snythergen won’t be able to wear it—for I am sure I don’t know how to mend torn bark. I might sew it with a pine needle, but I wouldn’t know what to use for thread.” “Let’s make Blasterjinx a suit for himself,” cried Sancho Wing; and delighted with the idea they set to work. Blasterjinx was just the right build for a sturdy oak, and they fastened acorns all over his suit, and made his bark gnarly and his branches twisty. They tried to teach him the habits of an oak, but he did not learn readily. For being a tree did not come natural to him as it did to Snythergen. He was too restless to stand still very long. “He’ll never make the birds think he is real,” whispered Sancho Wing to Squeaky. “Perhaps it is just as well,” replied Squeaky, looking at Sancho Wing out of the corners of his little eyes, “for then he won’t be bothered with any goldfinch nests tickling his branches!” They were having such fun the week was up in no time and yet they had done no sight-seeing. With many warm farewells and promises to return soon, the three companions left to call on their unknown friend. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XII ABOARD A FLOATING BEARD