with her heart in her mouth, gave a faint little call: “Bobo!” and then a somewhat louder one: “Oh, Bobo!”
Straightway came a shrill little pipe, one syllable at a time, as if the piper were trying to get the name just right: “E-liz-a-beth.” Rodney looked startled, and they both peered here and there to see where the sounds came from. The little voice laughed gleefully, thinking it was fun that these big creatures could not see him. In front of them was an old redwood stump, with dozens of little trees starting out from it; and peering between the branches, Elizabeth made out the little round face with the rosy-red cheeks and the little brown peaked cap on top. “Hello, Bobo!” she cried; and then: “This is Rodney. Rodney, let me present my friend Bobo.”
“Well, well!” said Rodney; and then again, being at a loss: “Well, well!”
“I didn’t tell Rodney about you, Bobo,” explained the girl. “I thought he might be afraid of you.” And she added: “You see, he is just as nice as I promised.”
Bobo pushed out through the fringe of branches, took a seat on the edge of the stump, and surveyed his new visitor. He saw a young man with fair hair and sunburned features, a slightly turned-up nose, and a funny expression which made wrinkles around his eyes.
“Really,” said the young man, “this is most interesting. I am ever so glad to make your acquaintance.”
“I knew you would be, Rodney. You see, Bobo is a gnome, and has lived in this forest for a hundred years.”
“A gnome! Well, I have read about them, of course, but it is the first time I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting one. May I ask, Mr. Bobo, is it the custom of your people to shake hands when you are introduced?”
“I was never introduced before,” replied Bobo.
“I do not know how the custom of shaking hands started,” said Rodney, the philosopher. “It must have been many thousands of years ago, and I suppose men put out their right hands to each other to show that they had no weapons, and did not mean any harm. May I show you how we do it?”
Rodney took the tiny hand very gently in his, and moved it up and down once or twice. Bobo was exactly fourteen and a quarter inches high, and when he was well fed and happy he weighed eleven pounds and fourteen ounces. It was a strange thing to touch that delicate little hand.
“Bobo had never talked with a big person till he met me,” explained Elizabeth. “He lives in this forest all alone with his grandfather. They do not know what has become of the rest of their people. They have disappeared, and Glogo—that is the grandfather—thinks it is because the forests have been destroyed.”
“Another item to charge against the lumber business,” commented Rodney.
“What is the lumber business?” asked Bobo.
“It is the one that cuts down the trees.”
“Oh! Then it is a hateful business!”
“Yes, I have long had the same opinion. But my position is an awkward one, because it is my family’s business. My father is a lumberman, and so are some of my brothers.”
“How terrible!” The gnome looked as if he wanted to run away.
“Rodney can’t help it,” pleaded Elizabeth.
“No, Bobo, I assure you—I am the youngest son, and a little queer, and nothing I do or say counts in the least. My family goes on cutting down trees, and if they didn’t, other men would, so long as there was a single tree left on the surface of the earth.”
A look of horror came upon the gnome’s face. “Then Glogo and I are doomed!” he cried.
“No, no,” said Rodney hastily. “I said too much. I mean, any trees they can get at. Thank God, these redwoods are safe from them; this is a state park, and can never be cut. So you and your grandfather will always have a home—and people can come to visit you, if you will let them.”
“They do not want to be visited, Rodney,” explained Elizabeth. “Bobo only spoke to me because he is worried about Glogo.”
“What is the matter with Glogo?”
“It seems to be a case of neurasthenia,” replied Elizabeth, in her best bedside manner.
“What are the symptoms.”
“Well, he has lost his appetite for fern seed; he sits around and looks sad and does not say much.”
“But if he has nobody to talk to but Bobo, I should think he’d have said everything long ago. How old is he?”
“More than a thousand years.”
“Mightn’t it be just that he is aging, and is tired? Could we have a talk with him?”
“It’s not so easy,” said Bobo. “He has a dread of the big people, and has never let one see him in all his life.”
“But can’t you explain to him that we are not like most of the others? We love the trees and forests, and would not hurt anyone.”
“I am afraid he may be angry with me for having disobeyed him. He might disappear into the forest and never let me see him again.”
“My, that is a problem!” exclaimed Rodney.
“I have been thinking about it for three days,” continued the gnome, “and I have what I think will fix it. I beg you not to be frightened.” Then he did a surprising thing; he put his head low down, and drew up his knees, making a sort of ball of himself, and slid off the stump, and went rolling. The giant redwoods have a way of spreading out at the base, and the gnome hit upon one great lump of bark after another, and was rolled out, as if by a “shoot-the-chutes,” onto the forest floor. There he lay, while Elizabeth and Rodney gazed in dismay.
“Oh, are you hurt?” cried the girl, running to him.
“A little bit,” said Bobo, out of breath. “Quite some, but not too much.” Then he sat up and explained. “I would not tell Glogo anything that was not true. But now I can say that I fell out of a tree, and I was hurt, and you picked me up and helped me. So, of course, Glogo cannot blame me, and he will have to be polite to you.”
“A most ingenious idea!” said Rodney.
“If you will be so good as to carry me now—”
“Oh, let me do it!” exclaimed Elizabeth. Rodney carried the robe and the lunch basket, while Elizabeth took the little creature into her arms, very carefully, just as if he had been a baby. “How light you are, and how nice to carry, Bobo! You would make a lovely pet!”
“I might bite and scratch if I did not like it,” said Bobo; but he seemed to like it, and snuggled close and warm, just like a pet.
CHAPTER THREE
In Which Both Meet Glogo
Elizabeth, carrying Bobo, and Rodney, carrying the basket, went on deeper into the forest, following Bobo’s directions. The ferns grew thicker, and the silence deeper; until at last Bobo said: “Here.” Then he whispered: “Don’t
