tommy walked beside muffs in order to give directions although that was properly the work of the silent guide. mary trudged on behind as it was her turn to carry the basket of lunch. they had passed the apple orchard and were following the trail which might, if their play came true, lead to the bramble bush man’s house. there couldn’t be a real bramble bush man. at least the children couldn’t see exactly how a man could scratch his eyes out and then scratch them in again and still be wondrous wise. but they were looking for the impossible. the trail was narrow and crooked and held no end of mystery.
“anything might happen,” muffs said in a whisper.
it did seem that way. first they were in a patch of woods so thick they could hardly see the sunshine. then there would be a grassy field; then woods again. and sometimes a rock that they could hide behind. these were the jolliest games of hide-and-seek that the children had ever played.
they had been in the deep woods for quite some time when tommy stopped short.
“whew!” he exclaimed. “this isn’t the path i found. see that hollow stump. i never saw that before.”
“it’s beginning to go down hill again,” cried mary after another five minutes of tramping.
13 “do you suppose,” questioned muffins doubtfully, “that a wondrous wise man would live in the woods as far away from other people as this?”
“wise men like to be alone,” said tommy knowingly.
“they like company,” contradicted mary.
“i think you’re both right,” muffins declared. “sometimes they like to be alone and sometimes they like company. i’m that way too,” she added, seating herself on a stone to rest.
“little miss muffet sat on a tuffet,” sang out tommy in his tuneless voice.
“that stone is not a tuffet.”
but this time tommy would not quarrel with mary. it might spoil the magic of their play. “well,” he said slowly, “if it isn’t a tuffet, then what is?”
none of them knew. such a simple little word and yet they hadn’t an idea in the world what it meant. they asked the guide and he only stared at them out of his sharp eyes and the tap-tapping of his feet on the trail was their only answer. but the bramble bush man would know.
“we’ll ask him, first thing,” agreed muffins. “then if he tells us the answer to that we’ll start asking him other things.”
“what other things?”
“oh, millions of ’em. how to make my mother happy and what people mean by the ends of the earth.”
“i know what they mean by the ends of the moon,” mary put in. “it really does have ends sometimes, just like the two ends of a horn. we could ask him why.”
“i know that,” said tommy proudly. “that’s the earth’s shadow.”
“is it?”
14 miss muffet gazed at him for a minute and then mary said, “but you’re not wondrous wise ’cause you don’t know what a tuffet is.”
where the trail was steep the guide helped muffins climb. when she grew tired she rested on his arms. she even shared her lunch with him. soon the basket was nearly empty.
“we’d better save the little that’s left,” mary suggested, “and pick berries if we’re hungry.”
there were plenty of berries along the path. in the cleared places tall barberry bushes grew but their bright red fruit was too sour and too filled with seeds. there were many kinds of berries that the children didn’t dare eat for fear they might be poison—and there were blackberries and tangles of brambles hanging over the trail.
“now that we’ve discovered the brambles,” tommy declared, “it will be lots easier to find the bramble bush man!”
muffs and mary agreed that his house would probably be covered with blackberry vines. half believing their play, they looked cautiously at either side of any bushes before they dared pick berries from them. the bramble bush man might be cross if he caught them picking berries from his own private bushes.
“i think a wise man would be cross,” muffins said.
but mary, as usual, was contrary and thought he would be kind. he would have to be very old too and yet young enough to jump into brambles. they would keep on talking like that until the whole thing got too puzzling. then they would have a game of hide-and-seek and forget it until, suddenly, the question of the bramble bush man’s wisdom would bob up again.
they had come to a regular forest of blackberry briars and, once more, were playing hide-and-seek. tommy was “it.”15 he had borrowed the guide to help him hunt. they had already found mary, and muffs could hear them trampling in among the brambles looking for her. she crouched under a particularly tall and brambly bush and plopped a berry in her mouth to keep herself quiet.
“all out’s in free!” she heard them calling.
she scrambled to her feet and then, all in a flash, she saw something sparkling in the late afternoon sun. it made little flickers of light dance across the bramble bushes. could it be—someone’s eyes? the bramble bush man’s?
mary! tommy! come here—quick!!!
16 muffs called, “mary! tommy! come here—quick!!!”
they came, pushing through the brush as fast as they could and then they saw her pointing. there, with one bow looped over a bramble, were the oddest looking pair of spectacles that they had ever seen.
“i—i thought they were eyes at first,” miss muffet stammered.
“they are eyes,” said tommy solemnly as he unhooked the bow. “great aunt charlotte calls her glasses eyes and maybe the bramble bush man does too.”
“then whoever puts them on will be wondrous wise,” muffs said.
“let’s put them on the guide then,” mary suggested. “if he’s wondrous wise he can surely show us the way to the bramble bush man’s house.”
“if he’s wondrous wise,” said tommy, “then he is the bramble bush man and it’s his house we’re looking for.”
