II. A Visit to the Unwiseman.In which Mollie renews anacquaintance.
"Whistlebinkie,"]
said Mollie, one afternoon, as she and he were swaying gently to and froin the hammock, "do you remember the little red house under the oaktree?"
"Yessum," whistled Whistlebinkie, "I mean yes--ma'am," he addedhurriedly.
"And the Unwiseman who lived there?"
"Yes, I remember him puffickly," said Whistlebinkie. "I think he knowsless than any person I ever sawed."
"Not sawed but saw, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie, who was very anxiousthat her rubber doll should speak correctly.
"Oh, yes!" cried Whistlebinkie. "I think he sawed less than any man Iever knew--or rather--well--I guess you know what I mean, don't you?"
"Yes, I do," said Mollie, with a smile. "But tell me, Whistlebinkiedear, wouldn't you like to go with me, and pay the Unwiseman a visit?"
"Has he sent you a bill?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"What for, pray?" queried Mollie, with a glance of surprise atWhistlebinkie.
"To tell you that you owed him a visit, of course," said Whistlebinkie."There isn't any use of our paying him anything unless we owe himsomething, is there?"
"Oh, I see!" said Mollie. "No, we don't owe him one, but I think we'denjoy ourselves very much if we made him one."
"All right, let's," said Whistlebinkie.
A pasteboard visit.]
"What'll we make it of, worsted or pasteboard?"
"Whistlebinkie," observed Mollie, severely, "you are almost as absurd asthe old man himself. The idea of making a visit out of worsted orpasteboard! Come along. Stop your joking and let us start."
The rubber doll was quite willing to agree to this, and off theystarted. In a very little while they were down under the spreadingbranches of the great oak tree, but, singular to relate, the little redhouse that had stood there the last time they had called was not to beseen.
"Dear me!" cried Mollie, "what can have become of it, do you suppose,Whistlebinkie?"
"I give it up," said the rubber doll, scratching his hat so that hecould think more easily. "Haven't an idea--unless the old man discoveredthat its roof was made of strawberry icing, and ate it up."
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" laughed some one from behind them.
Mollie and Whistlebinkie turned quickly, and lo and behold, directlybehind them stood the little Unwiseman himself, trying to dig the oaktree up by the roots with a small teaspoon he held in his hand.
"The idea of my eating up my house! Hoh! What nonsense. Hoh!" he said,as the visitors turned.
"Well, what has become of it, then?" asked Mollie.
"I've moved it, that's what," said the Unwiseman. "I couldn't get anyapples on this oak tree, so I moved my house over under the willow treedown by the brook."
"But you can't get apples on a willow tree, either, can you?" askedMollie.
"I don't know yet," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't lived there longenough to find out, but I can try, and that's all anybody can do."
"And what are you doing with that teaspoon?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"You see, I don't want to swallow an acorn and have agreat big tree like that grow up in me."]
"I'm digging up this oak tree," said the Unwiseman. "I want to get theacorn it grew out of. I'm very fond of acorns, but I'm afraid to eatthem, unless the tree that's in 'em has grown out. You see, I don't wantto swallow an acorn, and have a great big tree like that grow up in me.It wouldn't be comfortable."
Whistlebinkie said he thought that was a very good idea, because therecould not be any doubt that it would be extremely awkward for any man,wise or unwise, to have an oak tree sprouting up inside of him.
"What are you so anxious to know about my house for?" asked theUnwiseman, suddenly stopping short in his work with the teaspoon. "Youdon't want to rent it for the summer, do you?"
"Whistlebinkie and I have come down to call upon you, that's all,"explained Mollie.
"Well now, really?" said the Unwiseman, rising, and dropping theteaspoon. "That's too bad, isn't it? Here you've come all this way tosee me and I am out. I shall be so disappointed when I get home and findthat you have been there and I not there to see you. Dear! Dear! Howfull of disappointments this world is. You couldn't come again lastnight, could you? I was home then."
Turning the clock back.]
"Not very well," said Whistlebinkie. "Mollie's father doesn't like it ifwe turn the clock back."
"Dear me! That's too bad, too! My!" said the old fellow, with a look ofreal sadness on his face. "What a disappointment, to be sure. You calland find me out! I _do_ wish there was some way to arrange it, so thatI might be at home when you call. You can't think of any, can you, MissWhistlebinkie?"
"Perhaps now that you know we are coming," said Mollie, who, while herlast name was _not_ Whistlebinkie, did not think it necessary to pay anyattention to the old man's mistake, which amused her very much, "perhapsnow that you know we are coming you might run ahead and be there when wearrive."
"That's the scheme!" said Whistlebinkie.
"Yes, that's a first-rate plan," said the old man, nodding his head."There's only one thing against it, perhaps."
"What's that?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"That I don't know," replied the Unwiseman, "which is very unfortunate,because it may be serious. For instance, suppose the objection shouldturn out to be in the shape of a policeman, who had a warrant to arrestme for throwing stones at somebody's pet tiger. What could I do?"
"But you haven't been throwing stones at anybody's pet tiger, have you?"asked Mollie.
"Not while I was awake, but I may have done it in mysleep, you know."]
"Not while I was awake," said the Unwiseman. "But I may have done it inmy sleep, you know. People do lots of things in their sleep that theynever do while awake. They snore, for instance; and one man I know, whoalways rides when he is awake, walks in his sleep."
"Let's try it, anyway," said Whistlebinkie. "It may be that there won'tbe any trouble, after all."
"Very well," assented the Unwiseman. "I'm willing if you are, only if Iam arrested it will be all your fault, and you must promise to tell thepoliceman that it was you who threw the stones at the tiger and not I."
Mollie and Whistlebinkie feeling sure that nothing of the kind wouldhappen, readily made the promise, and the queer little old man startedoff for his house as fast as his legs could carry him.
The two small visitors followed slowly, and in a few minutes had reachedthe Unwiseman's door down by the willow tree. The door was tightlyclosed, so they knocked. For a while there was no answer, and then theyknocked again. In response to this they heard a shuffling step within,and a voice which they recognized as that of the Unwiseman called out:
"Is that a policeman?"]
"Is that a policeman? Because if it is, I'm not at home. I went outthree weeks ago and won't be back again for six years, and, furthermore,I never threw stones at a pet tiger in my life unless I was asleep, andthat don't count."
"We aren't policemen," said Mollie. "We're Mollie and Whistlebinkie cometo see you."
"Oh, indeed!" cried the Unwiseman from within, as he threw the door openwide. "Why, what a pleasant surprise! I had no idea you were coming.Walk right in. So glad to see you."
Whistlebinkie giggled slightly through his beaver hat as he and Mollie,accepting the invitation, walked in and seated themselves in a drolllittle parlor that opened on the left-hand side of the hall.
"So this is your house, is it?" said Mollie, glancing about her withmuch interest.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman; "but, Miss Whistlebinkie, won't you kindlysit on the table instead of on that chair? So many people have been hurtby chairs breaking under them--many times more than are hurt fromsitting on tables--that I have to be very careful. I have no doubt thechairs are strong enough to hold you, but I don't want to take anychances. I think it will rain next year, don't you?" he added. "And youhaven't brought any umbrellas! Too bad, too bad. If you should get wet,you'd
find it very damp. Really, you ought never to go out without anumbrella. I always do, but then I know enough to go in when it rains, soof course don't need one."
"I see you have a piano," said Whistlebinkie, taking in the furniture ofthe parlor.
"Yes," replied the Unwiseman. "It's a very fine one, too. It has lots oftunes locked up in it."
"Are you fond of music?" asked Mollie. "No, I hate it,"said the Unwiseman.]
"Are you fond of music?" asked Mollie.
"No, I hate it," said the Unwiseman. "That's why I have the piano.There's just so much less music in the world. Nobody can get at the keysof that piano, so you see it's never played, which pleases me very much.If I were rich enough, I'd buy all the pianos, and organs, and fiddles,and horns, and drums in the world, and I'd keep 'em all locked up sothat there never would be any more music at all."
"I am sorry to hear that," said Mollie. "I love music."
"Well," said the old man, generously, "you can have my share. Wheneveranybody brings any music around where I am hereafter, I'll do it up in apackage, and send it to you."
"Thank you very much," said Mollie. "It's very good of you."
"Oh, it's no favor to you, I am sure!" put in the Unwiseman, hastily."In fact, it's the other way. I'm obliged to you for taking it off myhands. If you want to you can open the piano right away, and take outall the tunes there are in it. I'll go off on the mountains while youare doing it, so that it won't annoy me any."
"Oh, no!" said Mollie. "I'd a great deal rather have you to talk to thanall the tunes in the piano."
"Very well," said the old man, with a smile of pleasure. "What shall wetalk about, frogs?"
"I don't know anything about frogs," said Mollie.
"Neither do I," returned the Unwiseman. "I don't know the differencebetween a frog and a watch-chain, except that one chains watches and theother doesn't, but which does and which doesn't I haven't a notion."
"I see you have all your pictures with their faces turned to the wall,"said Mollie, looking about the room again so as to avoid laughing in theUnwiseman's face. "What is that for?"
"That's to make them more interesting," replied the Unwiseman. "They'rea very uninteresting lot of pictures, and I never could get anybody tolook at 'em until I turned them hind side before, that way. Noweverybody wants to see them."
Mollie rose up, and turned one of them about so that she could see it.
"It's very pretty," she said. "What is it a picture of--a meadow?"
"It's a picture of me."]
"No. It's a picture of me," said the Unwiseman. "And it's one of thebest I ever had taken."
"But I don't see you in it," said Mollie. "All I can see is a greatfield of grass and a big bowlder down in one corner."
"I know it," said the Unwiseman. "I'm lying on my back behind thebowlder asleep. If you could move the bowlder you could see me, but youcan't. It's too heavy, and, besides, I think the paint is glued on."
"I hope you don't lie on the ground asleep very much," said Mollie,gravely, for she had taken a great liking to this strange old man whodidn't know anything. "You might catch your death of cold."
"I didn't say I was lying on the ground," said the Unwiseman. "I said Iwas lying on my back. People ought not to catch cold lying on a nicewarm back like mine."
"And do you live here all alone?" asked Mollie.
"Yes, I don't need anybody to live with. Other people know things, andit always makes them proud, and I don't like proud people."
"I hope you like me," said Mollie, softly.
"Yes, indeed, I do," cried the Unwiseman. "I like you and Whistlebinkievery much, because you don't either of you know anything either, and so,of course, you aren't stuck up like some people I meet who think justbecause they know the difference between a polar bear and a fog hornwhile I don't that they're so much better than I am. I like you, and Ihope you will come and see me again."
"I will, truly," said Mollie.
"Very well--and that you may get back sooner you'd better run right homenow. It is getting late, and, besides, I have an engagement."
"You?" asked Mollie. "What with?"
"Well, don't you tell anybody," said the Unwiseman; "but I'm going up tothe village to the drug store. I promised to meet myself up there at sixo'clock, and it's quarter past now, so I must hurry."
"But what on earth are you going to do there?" asked Mollie.
"I'm going to buy myself a beaver hat just like Whistlebinkie's,"returned the Unwiseman, gleefully, "I've got to have something to keepmy tablecloth in, and a beaver hat strikes me as just the thing."
The unwiseman sped off like lightning to the village drugstore.]
Saying which the Unwiseman bowed Mollie and Whistlebinkie out, and spedoff like lightning in the direction of the village drug store, butwhether or not he succeeded in getting a beaver hat there I don't know,for he never told me.