“Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his work, “I have to do so, because it’s this kind of a world. _Please_ don’t wrinkle up things.” “I,” said the Deev, plainly, “will now show you what kind of a world this really is. And I rather think I’ll destroy you with a great destruction.” Then the Deev took the highest mountain and he tied its streams and cataracts together to make a harness, and he named the mountain new, and he drove it all up and down the earth. And he cried behind it: “Ho, Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, trample the world into trifles and plough it up for play. Bit-bit is being taught his lesson.” From dawn he did this until the sky forgot pink and remembered only blue and until the sun grew so hot that it took even the sky’s attention, and the Deev himself was ready to drop. And then he pulled on the reins and Rhumbthumberland, steed of the clouds, stopped trampling and let the Deev lean his elbows on his back. And there, right between the Deev’s elbows, sat Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass. “Thunders of spring,” cried the Deev, “aren’t you destroyed with a great destruction?” But Bit-bit never looked up, he was so busy. “Has anything happened?” he asked politely, however, not wishing to seem indifferent to the Deev’s agitation--though secretly, in his little head, he hated having people plunge at him with their eyebrows up and expect him to act surprised too. When they did that, it always made him savage-calm. “The world is trampled into trifles and ploughed up for play,” said the exasperated Deev, “_that’s_ what’s happened. How dare you pay no attention?” “Deevy dear,” said Bit-bit, still not looking up from his task, “I have to work, whether it’s this kind of a world or not. I _wish_ you wouldn’t wrinkle up things.” Then the Deev’s will ran round and round in his own head like a fly trying to escape from a dark hole--that is the way of the will of all Deevs--and pretty soon his will got out and went buzzle-buzzle-buzzle, which is no proper sound for anybody’s will to make. And when it did that, the Deev went off and got a river, and he climbed up on top of Rhumbthumberland and he swung the river about his head like a ribbon and then let it fall from the heights like a lady’s scarf, and then he held down one end with his great boot and the other end he emptied into the horizon. From the time of the heat of the sun he did this until the shadows were set free from the west and lengthened over the land, shaking their long hair, and then he lifted his foot and let the river slip and it trailed off into the horizon and flowed each way. “_Now_ then!” said the Deev, disgustingly pompous. But when he looked down, there, sitting on his own great foot, high and dry and pleasant, was Bit-bit, weaving his garment of sweet-grass and saying: “Deevy dear, a river washed me up here and I was so busy I didn’t have time to get down.”