The marvellous land of Snergs
at any moment. Sylvia gave her opinion that they were rather too small
to be of much use if anything exciting did occur and said she hoped it
wouldn’t. She asked him if he thought it would be cold when the dark
came, and he said, “No, only nice and cool,” for he was an optimist
always.
They got up and went on again, following the gleam of the sun as well
as they could, until at last it went altogether and they could only
see a red glow from the open parts where there were mostly bushes. And
still they went on and on and on, until Sylvia said her legs began
to feel all wobbly and she had to sit down. There it was: those silly
things were deep in the lonely woods and the shadows were creeping up
from the far places.
Joe climbed a tree to see if he could see something worth seeing, such
as the smoke from an honest wood-cutter’s hut or the like, as in the
tales of forests; though really he hadn’t much expectation of finding
anything, for he had been told there was little else but billions of
trees between the sea and the Snerg country. All he could see was a
little speck of red which he said might be the last of the sunset, or
might be a fire made by Indians or cannibals; though of course he did
not mean the last part nor did Sylvia believe it or take any interest
in it. What she wanted was a bite of real supper and a bed; the forest
had been growing darker and more serious and a little shiver went
through her as if a lot of the fun had suddenly gone.
“It’s getting more and more like one of those tales,” said Joe in a
satisfied way--as will have been seen, he had a good deal of what is
known as the bulldog breed in him. “Specially that part over there
where it’s like a dark passage. Suppose an old witch was to come along
there, flop, flop, flop, and tell us to go home with her.”
“Oh, don’t, Joe! We don’t want it _too_ much like those tales. It’s
getting awfully lonely. I wish I hadn’t come.”
“But it’s only lonely enough to be nice, Sylvia. Besides, it’s great
fun. There’s nobody to tell us we mustn’t do things, or to tell us when
to go to bed. We jolly well go to bed when we like.”
“Yes, but _where_ are we to go to bed?”
“Oh, somewhere or other. I know! We’ll get some fallen leaves, like in
the babes in the wood, and cover ourselves up.”
“But it’s summer time and there aren’t any fallen leaves.”
“More there are. Then what we’ve got to do is to cuddle up close. I’ll
look after you, never fear, and if any old witch was to----” here he
stopped suddenly and looked round at the deepening shadows.
“Oh, Joe!” cried Sylvia, getting close up to him and rather behind him.
The sound they heard was a nasty, soft, flopping sound, and it came
from the part which Joe had said looked like a dark passage. He wished
he had brought a sword with him somehow, or a bow and arrows, or else
one of old Vanderdecken’s guns even if it did knock him over backwards
as the one did that he got hold of one day (but nobody found out who it
was). Alas, he had nothing but his wooden scalping knife; but he got it
out because it seemed better than nothing.
Then, to the surprise and joy of these infants, a great cinnamon bear
hove in sight and came up to them, wagging his head from side to side,
and, so to speak, gently barging at them. It took some time to prove
to him that they were in no mood for play, but by dint of strenuous
pushing at him on one side he got it into his thick head that they
wanted him to lie down, and he flopped over. Then they got close up
to him, Sylvia on the inside so as to give her as much of the fur as
possible, and Tiger curled up in a little hollow space by her neck;
and they were soon asleep, for they were very tired, what with the
long tramp and the novelty of everything. But what a change! From
their nicely prepared supper of warm milk and rusks to cold pears and
water. From their clean, decorously tinted dormitory to the lonely
wind-sighing forest. From their little cots, with clean sheets spread
over resilient aromatic hops, to the lee-side of a bear. And the bear
had bad dreams and kept waking them up by moaning and shuddering
sounds, and more than once he turned over, forgetting all about them,
and Joe had to punch him and pull his fur hard to let him know that
there were young folks and a puppy underneath. It was a long, hard,
disagreeable night, and they were right glad when, after a week as it
seemed, the dawn came.
THE DAWN
There was nothing special about the dawn when it did come. It was cold
and grey and shivery, with a mist that hid the trees a little distance
away, and Sylvia felt very discontented and hungry and really wished
she hadn’t listened to Joe. He on the other hand was very brave and
strong, and he rubbed her hands and feet to warm them and then turned
somersaults backwards to warm himself; to the great surprise of the
bear, who sat up on his hind legs and stared, as cinnamons will at
anything new. There was nothing to eat except some chilly berries all
covered with dew, and these did not appeal to the children’s stomachs
at that hour. But the bear ate large quantities of them and they had to
kick him to make him stop stuffing and come on.
Joe helped Sylvia on to the bear’s back, and she sat there with Tiger
clasped to her because he was now a very silent pup owing to his having
had nothing to eat for such a long time, and they went on their way
for some miles--that is to say, they went on in an opposite direction
to where they could see signs of sunrise over the trees. But the bear
did not understand that they wanted him to go as near due west as
possible, and he kept turning up sylvan glades at right angles and Joe
had continuously to push his head round in the way he should go.
They parted with him suddenly and in a surprising way. He caught sight
of a hollow tree in the middle distance, from which issued bees in
large numbers though peacefully, and he intimated by grunts that there
was food for all hands and to spare. Before they quite realized what he
meant he was charging up to the tree, and Sylvia had just time to slip
from his back. In another instant he was tearing away at the rotten
part of the tree to get at the honey, and clouds of bees came out in
a horrible rage to see about it. Joe caught Sylvia’s hand and dragged
her into a clump of bushes just in time, and they went tearing through
it and then as hard as they could pelt over the grass until they were
a long way off. They could hear, subdued by distance, the hum of bees
like the rich deep note of a church organ, and the mixed grunting and
howling of the bear; though whether the latter sounds were those of joy
or grief was a doubtful question. Sylvia said that bears did not feel
pain from bees’ stings except on the tip of the nose because their fur
protected them, but Joe was of opinion that they got stung furiously
all over but that they considered the honey was worth the pain, hence
the mixed quality of the howls.
They went on and on and on, and at last the sun got up and sent beams
of cheerful light through the leaves and drove away the mist, so that
Sylvia began to feel much better, though hungry, and hungrier as time
went on. And just when the question of breakfast had become a really
serious and mournful subject, they roused a shout of joy, for they saw
coming towards them down the woodland ways one Gorbo, a Snerg.
GORBO THE SNERG
Gorbo was a well-known, utterly irresponsible Snerg who occasionally
came over to Watkyns Bay to do a job of work, and who was quite
celebrated for his habit of doing it very badly and getting tired of
it almost at once and wandering off again. He was of average size for
a Snerg and fairly young--possibly two hundred and fifty--and though
good-natured to excess he had little intelligence of the useful kind.
He had given it out that he was a potter by trade--he had indeed some
superficial knowledge of the business--and he had induced Miss Watkyns
to let him start a little kiln in order to supply the Society with
pots. But there was no particular shape to his pots when he had made
them and many of them fell to bits when they were handled, so Miss
Watkyns told him plainly that he was a fraud; and to this he agreed
heartily for he did not like to contradict people. She told him to go
away--to potter off was her bitter expression--so he had gone to spend
a day or two with Vanderdecken’s men, who rather liked his face but I
don’t know why, and then he had come across the forest on his way to
the town, where he had a little house of one room and a kitchen. And
that is why the children met him that morning, grinning all over his
face and carrying his bow and arrows, and a little bundle containing
his few potter’s tools and his other shirt and a bunch of wheat-cakes.
He had slept in a thicket of ferns, some of which he had chopped up to
form a sort of nest, and what with the odds and ends of fern sticking
to his clothes and his wild hair straggling out from his saucer cap, he
looked as disreputable a person as you might expect to meet even among
the Snergs, who are not over particular about their personal appearance
at the best.
But he was a welcome sight to Sylvia and Joe. All three took hands and
made two little dancing steps first to one side and then to the other,
which is the Snerg manner of greeting, and which all the children
had taken to (in spite of Miss Watkyns’ objection to it as absurd
and unnecessary) and he was then asked if he had anything to eat. He
produced his wheat-cakes and then made a little fire in order to warm
them up on his potter’s trowel, which he cleaned first with a bunch
of grass. Before they sat down to eat he sneaked up to a herd of deer
which came into sight a little distance away and somehow blarneyed one
of them into letting him milk her. He came back with a good deal of
milk in a silver-tipped horn that he had, and the children divided it
between them. They did not reflect of course that they were causing
some small deer to go short that morning. But it was a very jolly
breakfast. It was quite a joy to the children to note Tiger’s figure
showing signs of sleekness and roundness again; he being of an age when
it shows quickly.
When Gorbo heard that they had the nerve to run away he was not at
all shocked at their folly but highly delighted with their sporting
character, which is just what would be expected of him. But he said
it was lucky they had met him, because left to themselves it was very
doubtful if they would ever reach the town; and there was always the
danger that they might wander into the parts where the trees grew
closer and closer and are all twisted until at last there is no going
forwards or backwards, and then they would be lost for keeps and a fine
to-do. This, by the way, is the only thing with a touch of sense in it
that he ever said to them, on that day at least.
Feeling tremendously refreshed with this wholesome meal, they started
off again on their journey, Gorbo leading the way and showing nice
little short-cuts through clumps of bracken and so forth, and sometimes
carrying Sylvia over rough ground and through swampy places and the
like. They had the luck to meet another large cinnamon bear, which
carried both children for several miles; but at length it intimated in
the usual way that it had had enough (this is done by crouching on the
ground with all four paws tucked underneath, laying the head sideways,
and emitting a long, loud, melancholy howl). So they got off and the
bear sprang up and went swiftly away, and they never found another.
It was the time of the annual migration of bears to the country of
slug-nuts, and that is why so few bears were seen on this trip.
It was a long journey and both children got very tired; Gorbo had at