The Adventures of Diggeldy Dan

Now when the White-White Horse disappeared through the dusk with the Pretty Lady and Little Black Bear on his back, his feet seemed suddenly shod with wings. Indeed, he traveled so very swiftly that, in telling of it afterward, Little Black Bear was never quite certain that they had not actually skimmed through the air. But—as he always added in conclusion—whether they did or did not made no very great difference. The important point was that even the wind could not have moved faster, so that, in most no time at all, the three of them found themselves at the edge of a very black, and very deep, and very great forest.

“What a wonderful place!” cried Little Black Bear. “Do let us go on into the depths of it!”

“No,” answered the Lady, as she brought the White-White Horse to a halt. “At least I may not go, for I have much else to do. But it is here that you are to alight and set out in quest of your story.”

“Oh, that will be fine,” said Little Black Bear, as he prepared to climb to the ground. And then, hesitating for a moment, he added, “But how am I to get back to the menagerie tent?”

“Trust me for that,” the Lady replied, “for in due time I shall come to you again and then the three of us will once more return to Spangleland.”

And as her wiggley-nosed passenger scrambled down, the golden-haired one bade him a merry farewell and was gone.

For a moment Little Black Bear stood looking after the fleeting forms and then, turning his face toward the forest and tucking his lunch bag more securely under one arm, he waddled into the deepening gloom as quickly as his rather short legs would carry him.

“Why, it must be here that the circus gets all its poles,” he exclaimed, as he looked about at the tremendously tall trees. “Goodness, the number of them! And the size! There’s one that’s every bit as big around as Hippo; and another that’s even larger than Elephant.” He recalled what the crow in the messenger’s cap had said about a million trillion clouds. “Yes,” he said, wagging his head rather wisely, “there must easily be that many trees.”

So, talking to himself as he went, and picking his way around the ends of gray, gnarled logs, Little Black Bear trudged deeper and deeper into the forest. As he advanced the gloom changed to night, and, though the traveler’s eyes were very bright and quite used to the dark, he finally decided to find a resting place until morning.

Now, Little Black Bear had never spent a night in the woods but was, on the contrary, accustomed to snuggling close in the straw on the floor of a splendid red and gold cage. Still, he had often heard his elders tell of the great wide world and he knew that hollow trees were supposed to make ideal lodging places. So he immediately set about to find one. He had not far to look, for very soon he came to a tree of unusual size and there, in its base, was a most inviting black hole. Going up to it, he found that the hole opened into a round room in the trunk. The floor of the room was packed close with leaves that crackled under foot as their visitor stepped over them.

“Why, I shall be most comfortable here,” cried Little Black Bear, “I had no idea one could find such houses as this away in the depths of the forest.”

In fact the discovery so delighted him that he began to sing the merriest kind of a tune and, noting that the walls of the tree caused his voice to seem much deeper than it really was, he sang the song all over again. Next—because he loved to hear the leaves crinkle and crunch—he broke into a jig and ended by rolling over and over on the floor. But in doing this he all but crushed the paper bag which held his lunch and that caused him to remember that perhaps he should dine before going to bed. So, getting up, he went out into the open and sat down with his back to the tree. Here he undid the bag and rummaged inside with his paw. He was very much tempted to eat the taffy-on-the-stick but finally decided on an apple. Munching upon this, he sat peering into the night.

Here and there winged little spots of light glowed for a moment and then were snuffed out again. They made Little Black Bear think of spangles. They were about that size. He thought they might be the fireflies of which he had heard. But, aside from the twinkle-dots, all was gloom broken only by immense columns that were even blacker than the night itself. And these Little Black Bear knew were the trunks of the great trees that stood near his own. How big everything was. How cool and sweet the air. How he wished all the other animals were with him. What a story he would have to tell!

From away in the distance came a faint “hoot, hoot, hoot.” Out of nearby trees dropped odd little sounds as though something were hopping about on the branches. But by now he had disposed of his apple and so carefully closing the paper bag, he rose to his feet and returned to the room in the tree.

“Gracious,” he said, “why, it must be late as anything. I was never up this long before in all my life. What a lark I am having—”

“I say, hush up, whoever you may be down below,” suddenly broke forth a voice from somewhere outside and over his head. “First you rouse a body with your singing, and now you insist upon talking to yourself.”

“Oh, please excuse me,” answered Little Black Bear, feeling very much ashamed. “I really didn’t mean to disturb any one.”

“Well, it’s all right this time, only kindly don’t do it again.” Then, after a pause, “Will you be with us long?”

“Well—er—that is—I really don’t know.”

“Family?” inquired the voice.

“Oh, no!” Little Black Bear hastened to reply, “I am quite alone. But who are you, if I may ask?”

“Hey, there!” came an entirely new voice, this time from very high overhead, “how long are you two going to keep folks awake with that chattering!”

But neither Little Black Bear nor the one to whom he had been talking answered so much as a word. Instead, silence now fell as deep as the night that surrounded the tree. Little Black Bear hardly dared move for fear the leaves might crackle and then, after a time—for he had already become drowsy—he gradually forgot the strange voices that had come from above, and slipped away into Slumberland.

Now whether it was this sound that awakened him, Little Black Bear had no way of knowing, but, however that may have been the very first thing that came to him when he again opened his eyes was the rhythm and ring of an echoing hammer. He knew it was a hammer, for he had sometimes seen the men of the circus at work on the cages. Indeed, as he lay there on the warm bed of leaves, he could almost see the nails slowly sink into place.

“Surely, now, some one must be building a house in the forest,” he said, as he scrambled to his feet and went to the door of the tree. “Yes, and it must be somewhere up the side of that slope.”

For, now that day had come, Little Black Bear could see that the tree in which he had spent the night stood at the foot of what looked to be a mountain—a mountain that was covered with trees quite as big as those that grew at its base. So closely did these stand and so dense were their boughs that it was only here and there that a bit of the sun found its way through the leaves. Because of this, Little Black Bear was reminded of the soft gray twilight-time that always brought Diggeldy Dan to the menagerie tent.

There were birds of many kinds in many, many trees twittering and teetering as if discussing their plans for the day. Their voices caused Little Black Bear to remember the mysterious ones of the night. But he soon dismissed them from mind, and turning his thoughts to peanuts and carrots, sat down with the lunch bag between his knees and devoured a most appetizing breakfast. Once more he was about to eat the taffy-on-the-stick, but again decided to wait until later. As he finished his last peanut, the pounding of the hammer sounded again and then, a moment later, came the rising and falling “gr-r-r-rrr” of a saw.

“I have just got to find out what all that is about,” decided Little Black Bear, as he folded his lunch bag. “Who knows? It may prove the best kind of an adventure.”

And so, guided by the song of the saw, he started up the side of the mountain. As he advanced the trees grew less dense and this made more light. Long, dazzling beams that seemed to split into thousands of glistening splinters came from the foliaged canopy that spread far above. Great rocks began to appear. The grass grew more green. The hammering was very near now. And then, reaching the edge of what proved to be a broad clearing, Little Black Bear came in sight of a scene that caused him to halt in amazement.

Spread out before him was a sort of niche in the mountain with a floor as wide as the menagerie tent, fully as smooth and almost as long. At the back of the niche and framed by jaggedy rocks were two wooden doors made of small trunks of trees bound tightly together with bolts and with bars. Both these doors were closed as if shutting the mouth of a cave.

But it was what occupied the center of the clearing that held the fascinated attention of Little Black Bear. Here was a wide-spreading tree and under its shade an enormously long work-bench surrounded by whole drifts of curlycue shavings. The bench was fitted with a vise with wide wooden jaws, while its face was covered with many strange tools. Just in front of the bench and half in the sunlight were two massive sawhorses that supported an oddly shaped frame. And, bending over these, a cap on his head and a carpenter’s apron tied round his waist was a shaggy coated bruin of marvelous size.

Now, of course, Little Black Bear took in the entire scene in a whole lot less time than it has taken to tell of it. Indeed, by now he had softly lifted himself to the top of a rock that he might obtain a still better view. Then, just as he had done so, and without the least sign of warning, the rock rolled away with a crash, and the next moment he lay sprawling in the clearing not a half-dozen steps from the bear in the cap and the apron!