d that so much, but just then I saw one of those terrible
flat-headed creatures making his way toward me. Why, his head was a
sawmill! He was gnawing the wood out of his way and clearing a road to
me. I tried to draw my sword, but I couldn't get it from under me.
Then I felt the bark rising. I pushed as hard as I could, and here I
am."

"Ax 'im his name," said Drusilla in an awe-stricken tone.

"Ah, I forgot," responded the little man. "I know you, but you don't
know me. My name is Mr. Thimblefinger, and I shall be happy to serve
you. Whenever you want me just tap three times on the head of your
bed."

"Thank goodness! I don't sleep in no bed," exclaimed Drusilla.

"That makes no difference," said Mr. Thimblefinger. "If you sleep on a
pallet just tap on the floor."

"Please, Mister, don't talk dat a-way," pleaded Drusilla, "kase I'll
be constant a-projeckin' wid dat tappin', an' de fus' time you come
I'll holler fire."

"Don't notice her," said Buster John, "she talks to hear herself
talk."

"I see," replied Mr. Thimblefinger, tapping his forehead significantly
and nodding his head.

"You kin nod," said Drusilla defiantly, "but my head got mo' in it dan
you kin comb out."

"I believe you!" exclaimed Mr. Thimblefinger, "I believe you!" He
spoke so earnestly that Sweetest Susan and Buster John laughed, and
Drusilla laughed with them.

"You dropped your knife," said Mr. Thimblefinger. "I'm sorry of it. I
can't bring it up to you, but I'll see if I can't crawl under and get
it out."

With that he leaped nimbly from log to log and disappeared under the
wood-pile. The children went down to see what he would do. They were
so astonished at his droll appearance that they forgot their
curiosity.

"Is that a fairy, brother?" asked Sweetest Susan in a low voice.

"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. And presently he made his
appearance, dragging the knife after him. He tugged at it until he got
it out, and then he sat down on a chip, wiped the perspiration from
his eyes, and fanned himself with a thin flake of pine bark no bigger
than a bee's wing.

"Pi