Round the barn and round the house they went, the bell calling, ‘Tinkle! Tinkle! Tinkle!’ and Buttons following close behind. Up Butternut Hill they climbed, Buttons quite forgetting his tender toes in his eagerness to catch his little friend. Up and up they went. Every time that Fleetfoot cried, ‘Me-ow!’ Buttons would run faster than before. At last the top of the hill was reached and Fleetfoot and Buttons both spied Boots sitting on the branch of a tree, his eyes gleaming in the darkness like green lamps and every hair standing straight out with excitement and fright. ‘Oh, Boots! Boots!’ cried Buttons, standing at the foot of the tree and stretching up his arms. ‘Come down! Come down! We are all alone. There is no one here but me.’ Fleetfoot wanted to laugh as he peeped from behind the roots of the tree. All alone, were they? Not to mention himself, over the top of a bayberry bush Fleetfoot could see the white plume in Jack Frost’s cap. He had followed them all the way up the hill. Indeed, Boots and Buttons were not alone. But neither Jack Frost nor Fleetfoot stirred nor made a sign. They both wanted Boots and Buttons to run home at once. Slowly down the trunk of the tree crept Boots. Tenderly he was gathered into Buttons’ arms. Down the hill started Buttons on his way toward home. Close behind them came Fleetfoot watching Buttons’ every step. ‘Dear me, those bare toes!’ thought he to himself. ‘How I wish he was safe at home!’ Every time Buttons stepped on a stone and cried, ‘Ouch!’ Fleetfoot winced as if his own tiny toes had been hurt. Brownies are the kindest little people in the world and their hearts are very tender, you must know. Behind them, lurking in the shadows, marched Jack Frost, carrying his paint-brush like a banner, and stopping now and then to paint a scarlet spray on a bush or to trace with white the leaves of a late wayside flower. Jack Frost felt happy. He had been troubled about Buttons, wandering out in his night-clothes on this frosty night. But now, with the help of Fleetfoot, he had started Buttons toward home. In five minutes, if Buttons kept straight on, the little boy would be tucked snugly in his own warm bed. But Buttons didn’t keep straight on. Suddenly, to every one’s surprise, he sat down by the side of the road. ‘Ouch! Ouch!’ cried Buttons, rocking to and fro. ‘I have hurt my toe again. Ouch! Ouch! Oh! Oh! I can’t walk another step. Let us stay here, Boots, and go to sleep. I am so tired. We can go home in the morning.’ And burying his face in Boots’ fur, poor, tired Buttons fell fast asleep. ‘This won’t do! This won’t do!’ scolded Jack Frost, hurrying up and shaking his paint-brush as if he would sweep Boots and Buttons down the road. ‘This will never do! Come, Fleetfoot, come! We must get home at once.’