"No," said the Highlander; "I only made it up. Would you like to hear it?" "Oh, yes, indeed," said Dorothy, as gravely as she could; "I should like to hear it very much." "It's called"--said the Highlander, lowering his voice confidentially and looking cautiously about--"it's called 'The Pickle and the Policeman';" and, taking a little paper out of his pocket, he began: "There was a little pickle and his name was John--" "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Dorothy, "I don't think that will do _at all_." "Suppose I call him _George_?" said the Highlander, gazing reflectively at his paper. "It's got to be something short, you know." "But you mustn't call him _anything_," said Dorothy, laughing. "Pickles don't have any names." "All right," said the Highlander; and, taking out a pencil, he began repairing his poetry with great industry. He did a great deal of writing, and a good deal of rubbing out with his thumb, and finally said triumphantly: "There was a little pickle and he hadn't any name!" "Yes, that will do very nicely," said Dorothy; and the Highlander, clearing his voice, read off his poetry with a great flourish: "There was a little pickle and he hadn't any name-- In this respect, I'm just informed, all pickles are the same. A large policeman came along, a-swinging of his club, And took that little pickle up and put him in a tub. "That's rather good about taking him up," said the Highlander, chuckling to himself; "so exactly like a policeman, you know." "Oh, yes, indeed," said Dorothy, who was ready to scream with laughter. "What's the rest of it?" "There isn't any more," said the Highlander, rather confusedly. "There was going to be another verse, but I couldn't think of anything more to say." "Oh, well, it's very nice as it is," said Dorothy, consolingly; and then, as the Highlander put up his paper and went away, she laughed till her eyes were full of tears. "They are _all_ funny," she said at last, as she walked away through the wood, "but I think _he's_ funnier than all of 'em put together"--which, by the way, was not a very sensible remark for her to make, as you will see if you'll take the trouble to think it over. [Illustration: "'THERE ISN'T ANY MORE,' SAID THE HIGHLANDER, RATHER CONFUSEDLY."] But presently, as she strolled along, she made a discovery that quite drove the Highlander and his ridiculous poetry out of her head. It was a tower in the wood; not an ordinary tower, of course, for there would have been nothing remarkable about that, but a tower of shining brass, and so high that the top of it was quite out of sight among the branches of the trees. But the strangest thing about it was that there seemed to be no possible way of getting into it, and Dorothy was very cautiously walking around it to see if she could find any door when she came suddenly upon the Caravan standing huddled together, and apparently in a state of great excitement. "What is it?" asked Dorothy, eagerly.