The wind tried to tell them that Sep was all right, but they couldn't understand wind-talk, and they only said, 'Drat the wind,' and fastened the shutters up tight, and put wedges in the windows. Sep walked along the straight white road that led across the new country. He had no more idea how to look for _his_ fortune than you would have if you suddenly left off reading this and went out of your front door to seek _yours_. However, he had made a start, and that is always something. When he had gone exactly seven miles on that straight foreign road, between strange trees, and bordered with flowers he did not know the names of, he heard a groaning in the wood, and some one sighing and saying, 'Oh, how hard it is, to have to die and never see my wife and the little cubs again.' The voice was rough as a lion's mane, and strong as a lion's claws, and Sep was very frightened. But he said, 'I'm not afraid,' and then oddly enough he found he had spoken the truth--he wasn't afraid. He broke through the bushes and found that the person who had spoken was indeed a lion. A javelin had pierced its shoulder and fastened it to a great tree. 'All right,' cried Sep, 'hold still a minute, sir.' He got out his knife and cut and cut at the shaft of the javelin till he was able to break it off. Then the lion drew back and the broken shaft passed through the wound and the broken javelin was left sticking in the tree. 'I'm really extremely obliged, my dear fellow,' said the lion warmly. 'Pray command me, if there's any little thing I can do for you at any time.' 'Don't mention it,' said Sep with proper politeness, 'delighted to have been of use to you, I'm sure.' So they parted. As Sep scrambled through the bushes back to the road he kicked against an axe that lay on the ground. 'Hullo,' said he, 'some poor woodman's dropped this, and not been able to find it. I'll take it along--perhaps I may meet him.' He was getting very tired and very hungry, and presently he sat down to rest under a chestnut-tree, and he heard two little voices talking in the branches, voices soft as a squirrel's fur, and bright as a squirrel's eyes. They were, indeed, the voices of two squirrels. 'Hush,' said one, 'there's some one below.' 'Oh,' said the other, 'it's a horrid boy. Let's scurry away.' 'I'm not a horrid boy,' said Sep. 'I'm the seventh son of a seventh son.' 'Oh,' said Mrs. Squirrel, 'of course that makes all the difference. Have some nuts?' 'Rather,' said Sep. 'At least I mean, yes, if you please.' So the squirrels brought nuts down to him, and when he had eaten as many as he wanted they filled his pockets, and then in return he chopped all the lower boughs off the chestnut-tree, so that boys who were _not_ seventh sons could not climb up and interfere with the squirrels' housekeeping arrangements. Then they parted, the best of friends, and Sep went on. 'I haven't found my fortune yet,' said he, 'but I've made a friend or two.'