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 farmhouse 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 farmhouse 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
