and began to strip them of their
leaves. "To make horsewhips, you know," she explained, with a teasing
glance at Fudge. He understood very well, and shrank away a trifle;
but the next minute the baby hands caressed his rough coat, and she
added lovingly: "No, no, Fudge! Nobody shall touch such a good dog!"
Throwing aside the sticks, she tried to weave the leaves into garlands,
as Joan had taught her. The attempt was hardly a success. As the
wreath with which Fudge submitted to be crowned speedily fell apart,
she concluded that, instead of making a chain for herself, it would be
nicer to carry the oak twig for a sun-shade. At present, however, she
laid it carefully on the ground beside her flowers, and proceeded to
play in the stream, with bits of bark for boats. Fudge enjoyed this
too for a while, but soon he grew restless.

All at once the child became aware that the woods had grown darker; the
sunlight no longer glanced in among the green boughs; through the
foliage she caught a glimpse of the western sky, which was flecked with
flame and beryl and amber. Next she realized that it must be a great
while since dinner. With the sense of hunger came a feeling of dismay.
Where was she, and how should she get home? "It must be most supper
time, Fudge," she said, choking down a sob. The little dog looked up
into her face with affectionate concern, and thrust his cold nose into
her hand, as if to say encouragingly: "Trust me, and I will lead you
back." He began to sniff the ground; and, having found the scent,
endeavored to prevail upon his young mistress to follow his guidance.
But Tilderee was sure that she knew best. "No, Fudge," she called;
"not that way. This is the right path, I'm sure. Come quick!" Vainly
the sagacious animal used all his dumb arts to induce her to rely upon
him; vainly he crouched and whined, and begged her to go _his_ way.
Tilderee obstinately stumbled on in the opposite direction. Fudge laid
down and watched her despairingly for a few moments; then, with a sigh
almost like that of a human being, he sprang after her. If actions
speak louder than words, could he have said more plainly: "Well, if you
_will_ get lost, I must go with you to take care of you?"

They wandered on, far beyond the source of the stream, emerged from the
wood, and strayed along the side of a deep gorge or canon. At every
step the surroundings grew wilder, the way more rocky and precipitous.
If she had been o