s is
where I belong," it thought to itself. "Excuse me," it said politely
to four dots sitting on a side of the cube, "I am a dot and you are
dots, so may I join you?"

"No, you may not," said the four dots. "We are dots on a pair of
dice. An extra dot would ruin a pair of dice." The dot felt silly
again and hopped over to the artist who was sound asleep.

"I wonder why he drew me..." thought the dot. And that's when it saw
dots on the artist's hand and arm. "Perhaps this is where I was
meant to be," said the dot as it crawled onto the artist's hand and
rested.

"Ahem," said one of the dots on his arm. "AHEM!" said the arm dot
even louder. "You are not a freckle. You are a dot, and only
freckles belong here." "Aren't freckles a type of dot?" asked the
dot, who was not feeling welcome anymore.

"Yes, we are," said the freckle, "We are a special kind of dot, and
you are definitely not one of us." (Of all the dots it had met, the
rejected dot felt that freckles were clearly the rudest.) The dot
did not know what to do. It didn't belong with lines, or periods, or
dice, or rude freckles.

The artist woke up at that very moment and went to look at his
picture, but he was heartbroken by what he saw. He held up the
drawing and sighed. "Where has my seed gone?" he cried.

"This is supposed to be a picture of a seed in the soil before it
grows into a mighty tree, but without the seed, it is useless, and I
cannot draw another so perfect as I did the first time," said the
artist sadly.

The dot began to feel silly one last time. It had not realized that
all along it was not just a dot, but also a seed. A seed may start
off small, but there's no telling how large it will become, how many
beautiful leaves it will grow, and how many people will find shelter
under it.

The dot jumped back onto the page. It jumped onto the exact spot it
had left because it knew that, although it was just a small dot, it
meant much more in the big picture.

XXIX

THE ISLAND OF BUM BUM BA LOO

Have you sailed to the island of Bum Bum Ba Loo?
It's something that all great explorers must do.

Ten years ago, I set off with my crew
In search of the island of Bum Bum Ba Loo.

The waves on the sea made me wish that I flew
To get to that island of Bum Bum Ba Loo.

The path on my map led us slightly askew,
And we sailed every ocean before we were through.

But when we arrived it was then that I knew
That all of the stories I heard