don’t know,” said the gnome. “It would be hard to arrange.”
“Rodney—I call him that, he says that ‘uncle’ makes him feel so old—is very good fun. I mean, he says such funny things, he would keep Glogo happy. Another thing, he has some money, and I haven’t.”
“What is money?”
“Well, it is hard to explain. It is what you get things with—I mean among us people. You would have to have money if you were going to take Glogo to see the world.”
The gnome pondered all these ideas. “Would Rodney come to see Glogo?” he inquired.
“I am sure he would. He has probably never met a gnome, and would be much interested.”
“I will tell you what I think. It will be better not to say anything to Glogo. He might be very angry; he might go away into the forest, and never be seen again. Let us get Rodney to come and talk it over with me, and we will then find some way for Glogo to meet Rodney by accident.”
“Oh, that will be fine!” exclaimed the girl.
“When do you think he will come?”
“We expect to get to the city tomorrow. I will talk to Rodney, and we will come, three days from today. If we do not, it will be because he is away, or sick, or something.”
“You will surely come?”
“Oh, yes, indeed. It is most interesting. It is really educational. Even Mama would admit it—that is, she would if she could believe it. I don’t think I shall tell Mama; she says I am imaginative, and would think that I have made you up, and scold me about you.”
Elizabeth stopped, as if she thought it was not quite proper for a little girl to know so much about her mother.
At that moment the peace of the forest was broken by the sound of an automobile horn some distance away. “That is the car,” said Elizabeth.
“One of those little houses that I see running by so fast? What is it that makes it go?”
“It is the engine,” said Elizabeth. “Rodney will explain it to you better than I can. He has one of his own, and will bring me in it. I must go now, or Mama will think that I am lost. She is calling.”
Voices were heard in the distance; and Elizabeth put her two hands to her mouth and gave a loud “Yoo-hoo—” a sound which caused the little man to put his fingers in his ears. “My, what a terrifying voice you have!”
“I will use it to call you,” replied the girl. “You have not told me what name I shall call.”
“My name is Bobo.”
“Bobo and Glogo. What pretty names! Mine is Elizabeth.”
“That is a long name,” said Bobo, and repeated it slowly. “I will learn to say it before you come back. You will surely come?”
“I’ll come,” called Elizabeth, already running toward the sounds. “Good-by, Bobo!”
The little round face disappeared behind the greenery, and Elizabeth hurried as fast as she could to where the two anxious ladies were waiting. “Oh,” cried Mama, “you have ruined your shoes!” And she added: “Don’t you know there are rattlesnakes in those woods?” Miss Jellife said: “You might have had a glass of soda inside a tree.”
“I am going to learn to drink honeydew inside a flower,” replied Elizabeth.
Mama sighed, as they were getting into the car: “This child is so imaginative!”
CHAPTER TWO
In Which Rodney Meets Bobo
“Old Man Sinsabow” was known as one of the lumber kings of the Northwest. He lived in a big palace that he had built out of his own lumber: a palace in the style of our ancestors, with bow windows and gables and turrets and towers, showing everything that could be done with lumber. In that palace he had raised a large family and sent it out into the world. Now he was seventy, and his daughters were all married, and two of his sons ran the lumber business, and another ran the family bank, and another the shipping line. They were all worthy of the name of Sinsabow except the last, whose name was Rodney—he did not especially care for lumber.
Rodney belonged to a new generation, which does not permit itself to care about anything too much. He made funny remarks about things, and about people, including his own family; remarks which somehow made them feel less important—and quite often people do not like that. Old man Sinsabow, who was tougher than the others, would smile grimly now and then. There was nothing about his youngest son that he had any special reason to find fault with; Rodney did not get drunk, or get into the newspapers; he just liked to read books, and try to write poetry. The old man thought he could afford to have one son who was different, and if Rodney wanted to be a poet, he would buy some newspapers or magazines for him to print his poetry in.
Meanwhile Rodney had an allowance, and continued to lounge in his den and read books, and make remarks about the lumber business. When he took a friend out driving, he would look at the hills with all the trees cut off, wave his hand and say: “Our northeast turret came from over there.” He would say: “That is my brother Archie’s yacht”—and the visitor might be puzzled by the idea of a yacht on a mountainside. If Rodney saw, in some distant glen, a stand of timber which had not yet been cut, he would say: “That’s my next year’s allowance.”
To this queer uncle came Elizabeth on the evening of her arrival. She tapped on the door and politely asked if she might come in, and seated herself in an armchair much too big for her, and said: “Rodney, have you ever seen the redwoods? I saw them today for the first time; and I didn’t see enough of them, because Mama and Miss Jellife were in a hurry. Will you do me a great favor?”
“What?”
“I want to go and see the big trees again. And I’ll tell you a secret—at least part of one. I saw something in the forest—I don’t want to say what it is, because you couldn’t believe me; I just want you to believe that it’s something unusual and surprising, and it will make you glad you came.”
“In other words,” said Rodney, with a smile, “my little niece wants to have a picnic.”
“With just you and me, please. Anybody else would spoil it all.”
“And when do you want to go?”
“Tomorrow, if you can arrange it. Mama says it’s all right, if you won’t drive too fast.”
So Rodney took up the telephone, and told the butler that he wanted a thermos bottle full of ice-cold lemonade for Elizabeth and one of hot coffee for himself, and a box of sandwiches and fruit for two, and his car at the door at eight o’clock. Elizabeth was grateful, and ever so mysterious.
Next morning they set out on a long drive—but not so long in time, because there were no traffic officers on these hundreds of miles of highway. Rodney had a special kind of car, and knew how to drive it specially well, and he took it for granted that the highways, like everything else, were made for the Sinsabow family.
At noon the next day they came to the place where Mama’s car had stopped; they parked, and Elizabeth took
