Chapter VI: How Bab Rescued the Wooden Cow

After Bab and Wiggles had reached the top of the hill, and floundered through a space packed with snow, they found themselves in a clump of fir-trees, with the wind whirling about them, and, not far away, the yellow twinkle of a light. Of course Bab intended to go straight on toward the light, but first she paused to take breath. And as she paused, she heard a little voice, quite close to her, exclaim: “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What do you suppose it is?”

“What do I suppose _what_ is?” said Bab, with a start, forgetting to be polite.

There was a slight scramble, and a patter of very tiny feet; and then Wiggles began to bark excitedly, with his ears cocked forward, and his bright eyes fixed on the ground.

“We—we weren’t talking _to_ you,” explained the wee voice, nervously. “We were talking _about_ you when we said ‘What is it?’”

“Oh,” said Bab, rather crossly. “Well, you’re very rude, anyway.”

“So are you,” said the small voice, coolly.

Bab felt angry and bewildered.

“I think,” she returned, “that I might just as well ask what you are!”

“Certainly!” said the little voice, more cheerfully. “We are the Mischief Brownies,—servants of the dear Wicked King, of the Red City. And you, I suppose, are an ogre?”

“Why, no!” said Bab. “I’m a little girl.”

“Nonsense!” said the Mischief Brownie. “We know better! You’re big! You’re enormous! _We_ know you. You’re an ogre!”

“Well, anyway,” said Bab, “I’m in a hurry; so good-night!”

“Where are you going?” asked the voice, anxiously. “You aren’t a friend of Santa Claus, are you?”

“N-no,” said Bab, truthfully, “I never saw him in my life.”

“That’s all right, then!” cried the Brownie, gaily. “You can help us in that case!”

A number of little lights appeared in the darkness near the ground. They seemed to be tiny lanterns, and by their light Bab could see the bearers of them. They were wee, wee men, not more than a few inches high, dressed in brown, with green caps. Their faces were all stamped with wide grins, and their eyes were not unlike Bizzybuzz’s and the Musical Goblins’.

“We’ll teach you six new spells or give you a wishing-cap if you’ll help us,” said the spokesman.

Bab’s heart leaped. A wishing-cap! If she had that, she might go at once to the City of the Wicked King, and help Dick rescue Humpty Dumpty for Mother Goose; and then they could all be free!

“What do you want me to do?” she asked.

“Listen!” said the Head Brownie. “Santa Claus has a Wooden Cow, of which he is very fond. It was only a little toy to begin with, but he fed it with all the shavings and saw-dust of magic wood that were left from his work, and it grew nearly as big as his house! Our master, the Wicked King, has sent us to chop the Wooden Cow up, and bring him back as much of the magic wood as we can carry. That magic wood is very valuable, you see, and very hard to get, and he wants to have some spells made out of it.”

“I never heard of anything so dreadful!” Bab exclaimed indignantly. “Poor cow!”

“It won’t hurt it at all,” explained the Mischief Brownie. “The cow is nothing but wood, you know. Now, what we want you to do is to help us chop up the cow, for we aren’t big enough to do much by ourselves.”

“Indeed, I’ll not help you,” said Bab, decidedly. “I’ll not chop up Santa Claus’s cow, and what’s more,” she cried with a sudden thought, “I’ll save her from you too!”

She began to run as fast as she could, Wiggles scampering ahead, and the Brownies after her. She could hear their shrill voices telling her to stop, but she ran on. Soon she saw that they were going faster than she, and had turned to the right, dashing away through the starlight. They looked like black specks on the white snow. For they had all left the darkness of the clump of fir-trees by this time, and the queer little men were plainly visible.

Faster and faster she went; Wiggles rushing along in front of her, barking loudly. Soon she saw the barn glimmering dimly against the sky. Bab dashed toward it. The Brownies had disappeared; they must be already inside.

“Oh, dear!” cried Bab. “I do so hope I shall get there in time to save that poor cow.”

She had reached the barn, but the big door was shut and fastened. In despair Bab hunted for an opening of some sort, and finally found a low window. She clambered up, very much out of breath, and sat on the window-sill peering into the darkness of the barn. Everything inside was as black as ink, and smelled of saw-dust instead of hay. Where were the Brownies, and _where_ was the Wooden Cow?

A sudden idea came to her. Leaning down, she whispered, “Wiggles, Wiggles, darling, jump!”

Wiggles tried twice in vain. The third time he was in her lap, trembling with excitement. She lifted him down inside the barn, slipping down herself at the same time.

“Now, Wiggles,” she said aloud, “_chase ’em!_”

She clapped her hands as she spoke, and Wiggles’s scurrying, scratching feet were heard on the floor in the dark. Bab listened with a beating heart. Wiggles snuffed and snapped and scratched and scampered about, and finally gave an eager bark. At the same moment the air became filled with shrill little startled cries.

“Don’t hurt them, Wiggles!” cried Bab. “Just chase them out!”

She found the barn door, groping through the dark, and managed to open it; and then she watched the whole tribe of Mischief Brownies escaping frantically, and flying over the snow with Wiggles after them.

“Come back, Wiggles,” she called; and the obedient little dog returned to her promptly. He felt quite disappointed at having to give up the chase so soon.

“Now we’ll have to hunt for the Wooden Cow,” said Bab. “I hope they haven’t done it any harm already.”

“They took off one horn,” said a thick wheezy voice near by; and Bab jumped.

“Are _you_ the Wooden Cow?” she asked.

“Yes; kindly put out your hand.”

Bab obeyed, and touched a curved piece of wood.

“That’s my horn,” said the same voice, “the one that they didn’t take off.”

“Where is the other one?” asked Bab. “They didn’t take it with them, surely?”

“No; I think I see your dog eating it now.”

Wiggles was sitting in the doorway, cheerfully gnawing the missing horn. Bab rescued it, much to Wiggles’s annoyance, and then exclaimed to its rightful owner, “You poor thing! Did the Brownies hurt you?”

“Oh, no!” said the Cow, calmly. “You know I’m wooden. Nothing hurts me. It wouldn’t have hurt me if they had cut me in pieces as they intended to, and as they would have done if you hadn’t dropped in; but it would have annoyed me. Because then I wouldn’t have existed any more. And that _would_ have been disagreeable!”

“I should think so, indeed!” agreed Bab. “Now let me see how I can get this horn on again! I wish there was a light. Never mind! I’ll hunt about in the dark.”

As a matter of fact, it did not seem nearly so dark as it had been. Bab saw that this was because the moon was rising. By its light drifting in through the big open door, she could see the large, motionless figure of the Wooden Cow, with its one horn.

“I smell paint somewhere,” said Bab, sniffing, and began to hunt for it. Sure enough, not far away, she found a can of black paint.

“Santa Claus used that to touch me up with,” explained the Cow, with a certain mournful pride. “I was a very handsome article when new!”

“Well,” said Bab, cheerfully, “now, _I_’m going to touch you up with it!”

For she felt very sorry for the poor Wooden Cow, and already had made up her mind to do all that she could to help it. She scooped up some saw-dust from the floor, and mixed it with the black paint until it made a thick, sticky paste. Then she plastered it on the base of the wooden horn, and then over the place on the Cow’s head from which it had been broken off. Then she stuck the horn on, and tied it up securely with a ribbon from her dress. As she did this, a tiny bit of wood—loosened, perhaps, by whatever weapon or implement the Brownies had used to cut off the horn—came off in her hand. Hardly thinking what she was doing, she dropped it into her pocket.

“There!” she cried gaily, jumping down from the window-sill, where, being quite short, she had had to kneel while she worked,—“There! I really think that will stay on!” As she spoke, she found the bit of wood in her pocket. “I wonder why I kept that?” she thought. “Never mind! I shall want to have something to remember the Wooden Cow by.”

“I am indebted to you,” said the Wooden Cow, with dignity.

“Now,” said Bab, “I shall have to go up to Santa Claus’s house, and call upon him. I’ll leave Wiggles to take care of you in case those bad Brownies come back. Wiggles, sit down and keep watch!”

Wiggles did as he was told, rather sadly. He hated to be left alone, and he did not count the Cow as company. Bab left the barn, and hurried away toward the lighted cottage, which she felt very sure was Santa Claus’s house.

When she reached the house, she knocked several times before anyone answered. At last the door opened, and a kind, merry voice said: “Come in, come in! Is that Bab? Why, bless my soul! I’ve been expecting you for a long time!”

It certainly was Santa Claus! How exactly like his pictures he looked! No, kinder, and dearer, and more lovable in every way. Bab wanted to get onto his knee at once, and put her head down on his shoulder, just as though he were her own grandfather at home. And as a matter of fact, that is just exactly what she did! For as soon as she had gone inside and the door had been shut, Santa Claus sat down in a big chair and lifted her onto his lap.

“Bless my soul!” he said again, beaming at her. “So you are the little girl who didn’t believe in me, and thought I’d be a bore if I _were_ real? Mother Goose—dear lady!—said that you’d be along before very long.”

Bab dropped her head onto his shoulder, and said, “I—I’m very sorry I said those things about you!”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Santa Claus. “She’s crying! That will _never_ do!”

“I’m sleepy!” Bab gave a sob. She was only a little girl, you see, after all; and the way through the Wonderful Wood had been long. “And—and—” She stopped, trying not to _really_ cry.

“Dear me! And _hungry!_” cried Santa Claus. “I should think so!”

And somehow, before she knew what had happened, she found herself eating,—bread and butter, and milk, and little hot cakes, and muffins, and preserves, and sugar-plums! _Such_ a good supper!

“Please,” said Bab, suddenly, “let me take some to Wiggles. He’s hungry, I know; and he’s in the barn, taking care of the Wooden Cow.”

“What’s that you say?” questioned Santa Claus, looking surprised.

And then Bab told him all about the rescue of the Wooden Cow. And Santa Claus was much pleased and interested, and seemed very grateful as well. And he went down to the barn himself, and brought Wiggles back with him, and gave him a wonderful supper, and said he was a splendid dog. And Wiggles was simply delighted.

Altogether, everything was going on in the most joyful manner possible, when Bab suddenly sprang to her feet, distressed and worried.

“What is the matter?” asked Santa Claus, kindly.

“Oh, Santa Claus!” cried poor Bab. “I had forgotten my errand again! Mother Goose sent me to you to serve you until I had won the right to go back to the Real World!”

“Dear, dear!” said Santa Claus, with twinkling eyes. “And do you want to start to-night?”

“No,” said Bab, reproachfully. “No,—indeed! But,” anxiously, “tell me what I am to do, Santa Claus. You see, now I sha’n’t be doing it _only_ because Mother Goose told me I must, but because you have been so kind to Wiggles and me!”

Then Santa Claus gazed at her with such wonderful kindness in his smile that she felt almost bewildered.

“Little Bab,” he said gently, “don’t you see that you have won your freedom already, if you want it, by what you did for my Wooden Cow?”

“But—but—” stammered Bab, very much surprised, “I didn’t do it for _that_ reason!”

“I know it. And that is just why it sets you free,” said Santa Claus. “And now go to sleep. To-morrow you may go back to Mother Goose.”

Bab felt very sleepy. The firelight was flickering drowsily about the room. She and Wiggles were curled up on a big fur rug that lay beside the hearth. Santa Claus’s face smiled at her in the dancing, fading red light.

“Good-night, Bab,” he said.

“Good-night, Santa Cl—”

Then she and Wiggles went fast asleep by the big fire in the house of Santa Claus.

VII

_Meg’s Journey to Fairyland_