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Updated: July 18, 2025
"No!" exclaimed Buster John with a lofty air, but not loudly. "Don't you see he's not a bit like the fairies we read about in books? Why, he was afraid of a wood-sawyer." "That's so," Sweetest Susan rejoined. "He's a witch, dat what he is," said Drusilla. "Shucks!" whispered Buster John. He heard the voice of Mr. Thimblefinger under the wood-pile. "I've found it, I've found it!" he cried.
"Oh, yes," replied Mrs. Meadows. "It is for girls as well as boys. Sometimes people tell stories just to pass the time away, and if the stories have little fibs in 'em, that don't do anybody any harm, they just keep them in there. If they didn't, the story wouldn't be true." "Is that the end of the story of the Talking-Saddle?" asked Buster John. "No! Oh, no!" Mr. Thimblefinger answered.
Thimblefinger, pulling out a tiny watch, "did you ever feel of the water in the spring at precisely nine minutes and nine seconds after twelve o'clock?" "N-o-o-o," replied Buster John, taken by surprise, "I don't think I ever did." "Of course not!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger gayly. "You had no reason. Well, at nine minutes and nine seconds after twelve o'clock the water in the spring is not wet.
"Yes, that is the jug the light hurts my eyes yes, certainly, that is the jug." Presently a volume of white vapor shot out from the shadow. It was larger than the largest comet, and almost as brilliant. "What is that?" asked Sweetest Susan. Mr. Thimblefinger felt almost as thoughtful as a sure-enough man of science.
"No, ma'am!" exclaimed Drusilla, with emphasis. "She ain't tol' me ter foller you in de fier an' needer in de water!" But Sweetest Susan didn't wait to hear. She jumped into the spring with a splash and then stood by her brother very red in the face. "Five more seconds!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger in a businesslike way. Drusilla looked in the spring and hesitated.
I know we can't go through it." "Come now!" Mr. Thimblefinger suggested, "don't say you know. Sometimes people live to be very old and don't know the very things they ought to know." "But I know that," replied Buster John confidently. "Very well, then," said Mr.
Goodness knows, ef he puts his han' on me I'm gwine ter squall." "Will you hush?" exclaimed Buster John impatiently. "Watch out, now," said Drusilla defiantly. "Ef you gits drownded in dar I'll sho' tell yo' ma." Fortunately, there was no one near the spring, so Mr. Thimblefinger advanced boldly, followed closely by the children, though Drusilla seemed to hang back somewhat doubtfully.
"I know how I'd feel if I was away from home in a strange country and had nobody but queer people to talk to. We are too old. Even Chickamy Crany Crow and Tickle-My-Toes are too old, and Mr. Thimblefinger is too little." "Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked Mr. Rabbit, running his thumb in the bowl of his pipe. "I was just thinking," responded Mrs. Meadows.
The other Buster John and the other Sweetest Susan shook hands all round, and the other Drusilla made a curtsey to the company. Then, with a run and a jump, they plunged into the big looking-glass as you have seen youngsters plunge into a pond of water. "Ho!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger, "they jumped in with a splash, but they never made a ripple."
"I know where it is," said Buster John. "Yes," replied Mr. Thimblefinger. "It is the oldest and the biggest tree in the whole country next door. But as soon as I found that Jimmy Jay-Bird was using it as a passageway, I drove a peg in the hole and put an end to his schemes, whatever they may have been. I don't know where he carries his sand and mortar now, and I don't care.
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