Mollie and the Unwiseman. Bangs John Kendrick
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they were down under the spreading branches of the great oak tree, but, singular to relate, the little red house that had stood there the last time they had called was not to be seen.
"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 he could think more easily. "Haven't an idea – unless the old man discovered that 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, directly behind them stood the little Unwiseman himself, trying to dig the oak tree 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 any apples on this oak tree, so I moved my house over under the willow tree down by the brook."
"But you can't get apples on a willow tree, either, can you?" asked Mollie.
"I don't know yet," said the Unwiseman. "I haven't lived there long enough to find out, but I can try, and that's all anybody can do."
"And what are you doing with that teaspoon?" asked Whistlebinkie.
"I'm digging up this oak tree," said the Unwiseman. "I want to get the acorn it grew out of. I'm very fond of acorns, but I'm afraid to eat them, unless the tree that's in 'em has grown out. You see, I don't want to 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 there could 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 the Unwiseman, suddenly stopping short in his work with the teaspoon. "You don'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 the teaspoon. "That's too bad, isn't it? Here you've come all this way to see me and I am out. I shall be so disappointed when I get home and find that you have been there and I not there to see you. Dear! Dear! How full of disappointments this world is. You couldn't come again last night, could you? I was home then."
"Not very well," said Whistlebinkie. "Mollie's father doesn't like it if we turn the clock back."
"Dear me! That's too bad, too! My!" said the old fellow, with a look of real sadness on his face. "What a disappointment, to be sure. You call and find me out! I do wish there was some way to arrange it, so that I might be at home when you call. You can't think of any, can you, Miss Whistlebinkie?"
"Perhaps now that you know we are coming," said Mollie, who, while her last name was not Whistlebinkie, did not think it necessary to pay any attention to the old man's mistake, which amused her very much, "perhaps now that you know we are coming you might run ahead and be there when we arrive."
"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 should turn out to be in the shape of a policeman, who had a warrant to arrest me 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," said the Unwiseman. "But I may have done it in my sleep, you know. People do lots of things in their sleep that they never do while awake. They snore, for instance; and one man I know, who always rides when he is awake, walks in his sleep."
"Let's try it, anyway," said Whistlebinkie. "It may be that there won't be any trouble, after all."
"Very well," assented the Unwiseman. "I'm willing if you are, only if I am arrested it will be all your fault, and you must promise to tell the policeman that it was you who threw the stones at the tiger and not I."
Mollie and Whistlebinkie feeling sure that nothing of the kind would happen, readily made the promise, and the queer little old man started off for his house as fast as his legs could carry him.
The two small visitors followed slowly, and in a few minutes had reached the Unwiseman's door down by the willow tree. The door was tightly closed, so they knocked. For a while there was no answer, and then they knocked 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? Because if it is, I'm not at home. I went out three 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, and that don't count."
"We aren't policemen," said Mollie. "We're Mollie and Whistlebinkie come to see you."
"Oh, indeed!" cried the Unwiseman from within, as he threw the door open wide. "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 droll little parlor that opened on the left-hand side of the hall.
"So this is your house, is it?" said Mollie, glancing about her with much interest.
"Yes," said the Unwiseman; "but, Miss Whistlebinkie, won't you kindly sit on the table instead of on that chair? So many people have been hurt by chairs breaking under them – many times more than are hurt from sitting on tables – that I have to be very careful. I have no doubt the chairs are strong enough to hold you, but I don't want to take any chances. I think it will rain next year, don't you?" he added. "And you haven'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 an umbrella. I always do, but then I know enough to go in when it rains, so of course don't need one."
"I see you have a piano," said Whistlebinkie, taking in the furniture of the parlor.
"Yes," replied the Unwiseman. "It's a very fine one, too. It has lots of tunes locked up in it."
"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 keys of 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 so that 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. Whenever anybody brings any music around where I am hereafter, I'll do it up in a package, 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 my hands. If you want to you can open the piano right away, and take out all the tunes there are in it. I'll go off on the mountains while you are 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 than all the tunes in the piano."
"Very well," said the old man, with a smile of pleasure. "What shall we talk about, frogs?"
"I don't know anything about frogs," said Mollie.
"Neither do I," returned the Unwiseman. "I don't know the difference between a frog and a watch-chain, except that one chains watches and the other doesn't, but which does and which doesn't I haven't a