“The rain may be pouring outside so that everything is flooded. But not a drop of it gets inside and you keep dry.”
The pheasants craned their necks and twisted their heads.
“Everything outside may be snowed under, but inside I was warm,” said Gobo; “I was even hot. They gave me hay to eat and chestnuts, potatoes and turnips, whatever I wanted.”
“Hay?” they all cried at once, amazed, incredulous and excited.
“Sweet, new-mown hay,” Gobo repeated calmly, and gazed triumphantly around.
The squirrel’s voice cut in, “A cousin of mine …”
“Keep quiet,” cried the others.
“Where does He get hay and all the rest of the things in winter?” asked Faline eagerly.
“He grows them,” Gobo answered, “He grows what He wants and keeps what He wants.”
Faline went on questioning him: “Weren’t you ever afraid, Gobo, when you were with Him?” she asked.
Gobo smiled a very superior smile. “No, dear Faline,” he said, “not any more. I got to know that He wouldn’t hurt me. Why should I have been afraid? You all think He’s wicked. But He isn’t wicked. If He loves anybody or if anybody serves Him, He’s good to him. Wonderfully good! Nobody in the world can be as kind as He can.”
While Gobo was talking that way the old stag suddenly stepped noiselessly from the bushes.
Gobo didn’t notice him and went on talking. But the others saw the old stag and held their breath in awe.
The old stag stood motionless, watching Gobo with deep and serious eyes.
Gobo said, “Not only He, but all His children loved me. His wife and all of them used to pet me and play with me.” He broke off suddenly. He had seen the old stag.
A silence followed.
Then the old stag asked in his quiet commanding voice, “What kind of a band is that you have on your neck?”
Everybody looked at it and noticed for the first time the dark strip of braided horsehair around Gobo’s neck.
Gobo answered uneasily, “That? Why that’s part of the halter I wore. It’s His halter and it’s the greatest honor to wear His halter, it’s …” He grew confused and stammered.
Everyone was silent. The old stag looked at Gobo for a long time, piercingly and sadly.
“You poor thing!” he said softly at last, and turned and was gone.
In the astonished silence that followed, the squirrel began to chatter again. “As I was saying, a cousin of mine stayed with Him, too. He caught him and shut him up, oh, for the longest while, till one day my father …”
But nobody was listening to the squirrel. They were all walking away.
XVII
One day Marena appeared again. She was almost full grown the winter that Gobo disappeared, but she had hardly ever been seen since, for she lived alone, going her own ways.
She had stayed slender and looked quite young. But she was quiet and serious and gentler than any of the others. She had heard from the squirrel and the jay, the magpie and the thrushes and pheasants that Gobo had returned from his wonderful adventures. So she came back to see him.
Gobo’s mother was very proud and happy over her visit. Gobo’s mother had grown rather proud of her good fortune. She was delighted to hear the whole forest talking about her son. She basked in his glory and wanted everybody to know that her Gobo was the cleverest, ablest and best deer living.
“What do you think of him, Marena?” she exclaimed. “What do you think of our Gobo?” She didn’t wait for an answer but went on, “Do you remember how old Nettla said he wasn’t worth much because he shivered a little in the cold? Do you remember how she prophesied that he’d be nothing but a care to me?”
“Well,” Marena answered, “you’ve had plenty of worry over Gobo.”
“That’s all over with now,” his mother exclaimed. She wondered how people could still remember such things. “O, I’m sorry for poor old Nettla. What a pity that she couldn’t live to see what my Gobo’s become!”
“Yes, poor old Nettla,” said Marena softly, “it’s too bad about her.”
Gobo liked to hear his mother praise him that way. It pleased him. He stood around and basked as happily in her praises as in the sunshine.
“Even the old Prince came to see Gobo,” his mother told Marena. She whispered it as though it were something solemn and mysterious. “He never let anyone so much as get a glimpse of him before, but he came on account of Gobo.”
“Why did he call me a poor thing?” Gobo broke in in a discontented tone. “I’d like to know what he meant by that.”
“Don’t think about it,” his mother said to comfort him, “he’s old and queer.”
But at last Gobo meant to ease his mind. “All day long it keeps running through my head,” he said. “Poor thing! I’m not a poor thing. I’m very lucky. I’ve seen more and been through more than all the rest of you put together. I’ve seen more of the world and I know more about life than anyone in the forest. What do you think, Marena?”
“Yes,” she said, “no one can deny that.”
From then on Marena and Gobo were always together.
XVIII
Bambi went to look for the old stag. He roamed around all night long. He wandered till the sun rose and dawn found him on unbeaten trails without Faline.
He was still drawn to Faline at times. At times he loved her just as much as ever. Then he liked to roam about with her, to listen to her chatter, to browse with her on the meadow or at the edge of the thicket. But she no longer satisfied him completely.
Before, when he was with Faline, he hardly ever remembered his meetings with the old stag, and when he did it was only casually. Now he was looking for him and felt an inexplicable desire driving him to find him. He only thought of Faline between whiles. He could always
