"Please, miss," said the shaggy
man, "can you tell me the road
to Butterfield?"
Dorothy looked him over.
Yes, he was shaggy, all right,
but there was a twinkle in
his eye that seemed pleasant.
"Oh yes," she replied; "I
can tell you. But it isn't
this road at all."
"No?"
"You cross
the ten-acre lot, follow
the lane to the highway,
go north to the five branches,
and take--let me see--"
"To be sure, miss; see as
far as Butterfield, if you
like," said the shaggy man.
"You take
the branch next the willow
stump, I b'lieve;
or else the branch by the gopher
holes; or else--"
"Won't any
of 'em do, miss?"
"'Course
not, Shaggy Man. You must
take the right road
to get to Butterfield."
"And is that
the one by the gopher stump,
or--"
"Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "I
shall have to show you the
way, you're so stupid. Wait
a minute till I run in the
house and get my sunbonnet."
The shaggy man waited. He
had an oat-straw in his mouth,
which he chewed slowly as if
it tasted good; but it didn't.
There was an apple-tree beside
the house, and some apples
had fallen to the ground. The
shaggy man thought they would
taste better than the oat-straw,
so he walked over to get some.
A little black dog with bright
brown eyes dashed out of the
farm-house and ran madly toward
the shaggy man, who had already
picked up three apples and
put them in one of the big
wide pockets of his shaggy
coat. The little dog barked
and made a dive for the shaggy
man's leg; but he grabbed the
dog by the neck and put it
in his big pocket along with
the apples. He took more apples,
afterward, for many were on
the ground; and each one that
he tossed into his pocket hit
the little dog somewhere upon
the head or back, and made
him growl. The little dog's
name was Toto, and he was sorry
he had been put in the shaggy
man's pocket.
Pretty soon Dorothy came
out of the house with her sunbonnet,
and she called out:
"Come on, Shaggy Man, if
you want me to show you the
road to Butterfield." She climbed
the fence into the ten-acre
lot and he followed her, walking
slowly and stumbling over the
little hillocks in the pasture
as if he was thinking of something
else and did not notice them.
"My, but you're clumsy!" said
the little girl. "Are your
feet tired?"
"No, miss; it's my whiskers;
they tire very easily in this
warm weather," said he. "I
wish it would snow, don't you?"
"'Course not, Shaggy Man," replied
Dorothy, giving him a severe
look. "If it snowed in August
it would spoil the corn and
the oats and the wheat; and
then Uncle Henry wouldn't have
any crops; and that would make
him poor; and--"
"Never mind," said the shaggy
man. "It won't snow, I guess.
Is this the lane?"
"Yes," replied Dorothy, climbing
another fence; "I'll go as
far as the highway with you."
"Thankee, miss; you're very
kind for your size, I'm sure," said
he gratefully.
"It isn't everyone who knows
the road to Butterfield," Dorothy
remarked as she tripped along
the lane; "but I've driven
there many a time with Uncle
Henry, and so I b'lieve I could
find it blindfolded."
"Don't do that, miss," said
the shaggy man earnestly; "you
might make a mistake."
"I won't," she answered,
laughing. "Here's the highway.
Now it's the second--no, the
third turn to the left--or
else it's the fourth. Let's
see. The first one is by the
elm tree, and the second is
by the gopher holes; and then--"
"Then what?" he inquired,
putting his hands in his coat
pockets. Toto grabbed a finger
and bit it; the shaggy man
took his hand out of that pocket
quickly, and said "Oh!"
Dorothy did not notice. She
was shading her eyes from the
sun with her arm, looking anxiously
down the road.
"Come on," she commanded. "It's
only a little way farther,
so I may as well show you."
After a while, they came
to the place where five roads
branched in different directions;
Dorothy pointed to one, and
said:
"That's it,
Shaggy Man."
"I'm much obliged, miss," he
said, and started along another
road.
"Not that one!" she cried; "you're
going wrong."
He stopped.
"I thought you said that
other was the road to Butterfield," said
he, running his fingers through
his shaggy whiskers in a puzzled
way.
"So it is."
"But I don't
want to go to Butterfield,
miss."
"You don't?"
"Of course
not. I wanted you to show
me the road, so
I shouldn't go there by mistake."
"Oh! Where
DO you want to go, then?"
"I'm not
particular, miss."
This answer astonished the
little girl; and it made her
provoked, too, to think she
had taken all this trouble
for nothing.
"There are a good many roads
here," observed the shaggy
man, turning slowly around,
like a human windmill. "Seems
to me a person could go 'most
anywhere, from this place."
Dorothy turned around too,
and gazed in surprise. There
WERE a good many roads; more
than she had ever seen before.
She tried to count them, knowing
there ought to be five, but
when she had counted seventeen
she grew bewildered and stopped,
for the roads were as many
as the spokes of a wheel and
ran in every direction from
the place where they stood;
so if she kept on counting
she was likely to count some
of the roads twice.
"Dear me!" she exclaimed. "There
used to be only five roads,
highway and all. And now--why,
where's the highway, Shaggy
Man?"
"Can't say, miss," he responded,
sitting down upon the ground
as if tired with standing. "Wasn't
it here a minute ago?"
"I thought so," she answered,
greatly perplexed. "And I saw
the gopher holes, too, and
the dead stump; but they're
not here now. These roads are
all strange--and what a lot
of them there are! Where do
you suppose they all go to?"
"Roads," observed the shaggy
man, "don't go anywhere. They
stay in one place, so folks
can walk on them."
He put his
hand in his side-pocket and
drew out an apple--quick,
before Toto could bite him
again. The little dog got his
head out this time and said "Bow-wow!" so
loudly that it made Dorothy
jump.
"O, Toto!" she cried; "where
did you come from?"
"I brought him along," said
the shaggy man.
"What for?" she
asked.
"To guard
these apples in my pocket,
miss, so no one
would steal them."
With one hand the shaggy
man held the apple, which he
began eating, while with the
other hand he pulled Toto out
of his pocket and dropped him
to the ground. Of course Toto
made for Dorothy at once, barking
joyfully at his release from
the dark pocket. When the child
had patted his head lovingly,
he sat down before her, his
red tongue hanging out one
side of his mouth, and looked
up into her face with his bright
brown eyes, as if asking her
what they should do next.
Dorothy didn't know. She
looked around her anxiously
for some familiar landmark;
but everything was strange.
Between the branches of the
many roads were green meadows
and a few shrubs and trees,
but she couldn't see anywhere
the farm-house from which she
had just come, or anything
she had ever seen before--except
the shaggy man and Toto. Besides
this, she had turned around
and around so many times trying
to find out where she was,
that now she couldn't even
tell which direction the farm-house
ought to be in; and this began
to worry her and make her feel
anxious.
"I'm 'fraid, Shaggy Man," she
said, with a sigh, "that we're
lost!"
"That's nothing to be afraid
of," he replied, throwing away
the core of his apple and beginning
to eat another one. "Each of
these roads must lead somewhere,
or it wouldn't be here. So
what does it matter?"
"I want to go home again," she
said.
"Well, why don't you?" said
he.
"I don't
know which road to take."
"That is too bad," he said,
shaking his shaggy head gravely. "I
wish I could help you; but
I can't. I'm a stranger in
these parts."
"Seems as if I were, too," she
said, sitting down beside him. "It's
funny. A few minutes ago I
was home, and I just came to
show you the way to Butterfield--"
"So I shouldn't
make a mistake and go there--"
"And now
I'm lost myself and don't
know how to get home!"
"Have an apple," suggested
the shaggy man, handing her
one with pretty red cheeks.
"I'm not hungry," said
Dorothy, pushing it away.
"But you may be, to-morrow;
then you'll be sorry you didn't
eat the apple," said he.
"If I am, I'll eat the apple
then," promised Dorothy.
"Perhaps there won't be any
apple then," he returned, beginning
to eat the red-cheeked one
himself. "Dogs sometimes can
find their way home better
than people," he went on; "perhaps
your dog can lead you back
to the farm."
"Will you, Toto?" asked
Dorothy.
Toto wagged his tail vigorously.
"All right," said the girl; "let's
go home."
Toto looked around a minute
and dashed up one of the roads.
"Good-bye, Shaggy Man," called
Dorothy, and ran after Toto.
The little dog pranced briskly
along for some distance; when
he turned around and looked
at his mistress questioningly.
"Oh, don't 'spect ME to tell
you anything; I don't know
the way," she said. "You'll
have to find it yourself."
But Toto couldn't. He wagged
his tail, and sneezed, and
shook his ears, and trotted
back where they had left the
shaggy man. From here he started
along another road; then came
back and tried another; but
each time he found the way
strange and decided it would
not take them to the farm-house.
Finally, when Dorothy had begun
to tire with chasing after
him, Toto sat down panting
beside the shaggy man and gave
up.
Dorothy sat down, too, very
thoughtful. The little girl
had encountered some queer
adventures since she came to
live at the farm; but this
was the queerest of them all.
To get lost in fifteen minutes,
so near to her home and in
the unromantic State of Kansas,
was an experience that fairly
bewildered her.
"Will your folks worry?" asked
the shaggy man, his eyes twinkling
in a pleasant way.
"I s'pose so," answered Dorothy
with a sigh. "Uncle Henry says
there's ALWAYS something happening
to me; but I've always come
home safe at the last. So perhaps
he'll take comfort and think
I'll come home safe this time."
"I'm sure you will," said
the shaggy man, smilingly nodding
at her. "Good little girls
never come to any harm, you
know. For my part, I'm good,
too; so nothing ever hurts
me."
Dorothy looked at him curiously.
His clothes were shaggy, his
boots were shaggy and full
of holes, and his hair and
whiskers were shaggy. But his
smile was sweet and his eyes
were kind.
"Why didn't you want to go
to Butterfield?" she asked.
"Because
a man lives there who owes
me fifteen cents,
and if I went to Butterfield
and he saw me he'd want to
pay me the money. I don't want
money, my dear."
"Why not?" she
inquired.
"Money," declared the shaggy
man, "makes people proud and
haughty. I don't want to be
proud and haughty. All I want
is to have people love me;
and as long as I own the Love
Magnet, everyone I meet is
sure to love me dearly."
"The Love
Magnet! Why, what's that?"
"I'll show you, if you won't
tell any one," he answered,
in a low, mysterious voice.
"There isn't any one to tell,
'cept Toto," said the girl.
The shaggy man searched in
one pocket, carefully; and
in another pocket; and in a
third. At last he drew out
a small parcel wrapped in crumpled
paper and tied with a cotton
string. He unwound the string,
opened the parcel, and took
out a bit of metal shaped like
a horseshoe. It was dull and
brown, and not very pretty.
"This, my dear," said he,
impressively, "is the wonderful
Love Magnet. It was given me
by an Eskimo in the Sandwich
Islands--where there are no
sandwiches at all--and as long
as I carry it every living
thing I meet will love me dearly."
"Why didn't the Eskimo keep
it?" she asked, looking at
the Magnet with interest.
"He got tired
of being loved and longed
for some one to
hate him. So he gave me the
Magnet and the very next day
a grizzly bear ate him."
"Wasn't he sorry then?" she
inquired.
"He didn't say," replied
the shaggy man, wrapping and
tying the Love Magnet with
great care and putting it away
in another pocket. "But the
bear didn't seem sorry a bit," he
added.
"Did you know the bear?" asked
Dorothy.
"Yes; we
used to play ball together
in the Caviar Islands.
The bear loved me because I
had the Love Magnet. I couldn't
blame him for eating the Eskimo,
because it was his nature to
do so."
"Once," said Dorothy, "I
knew a Hungry Tiger who longed
to eat fat babies, because
it was his nature to; but he
never ate any because he had
a Conscience."
"This bear," replied the
shaggy man, with a sigh, "had
no Conscience, you see."
The shaggy man sat silent
for several minutes, apparently
considering the cases of the
bear and the tiger, while Toto
watched him with an air of
great interest. The little
dog was doubtless thinking
of his ride in the shaggy man's
pocket and planning to keep
out of reach in the future.
At last the
shaggy man turned and inquired, "What's
your name, little girl?"
"My name's Dorothy," said
she, jumping up again, "but
what are we going to do? We
can't stay here forever, you
know."
"Let's take the seventh road," he
suggested. "Seven is a lucky
number for little girls named
Dorothy."
"The seventh
from where?"
"From where
you begin to count."
So she counted seven roads,
and the seventh looked just
like all the others; but the
shaggy man got up from the
ground where he had been sitting
and started down this road
as if sure it was the best
way to go; and Dorothy and
Toto followed him.
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