The children walked on for some time in the direction in which the Amba.s.sador and his followers had disappeared, and they soon found themselves out of the cave and in a kind of forest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A curious little old man with a flowing beard came toward them."]

"What funny trees," said Fidge, looking up over his head.

The others followed his example, and found that he had good cause for his surprise; the long, smooth trunks, without any leaves, ended in a kind of ball, while at the roots a kind of enormous bulb appeared.

"Whatever can they be?" cried Marjorie, in amazement.

"Onions!" was the reply, spoken by a strange voice.

The children turned around, and beheld a curious little old man with a long flowing beard coming toward them.

"Have you any other questions to ask?" he inquired, pleasantly.

"It's very kind of you, Sir," said d.i.c.k, who was the first to recover from the surprise which they had all experienced at this sudden apparition. "Will you, please, tell us where we are?"

"Oh," said the little man, with a smile, "this is the Field of Onions.

And I am the Sage with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of Onions. And that is the Hut of curious build which belongs to the Sage with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of Onions.

"Is there anything else I can tell you? If so, pray ask me. I like it."

"What a funny man," whispered Marjorie. "Do you think he is quite right in his head?"

"Hush!" said d.i.c.k. "Perhaps he can direct us to the Little Panjandrum's, and then we can find the Amba.s.sador easily."

"Little Panjandrum's, certainly," said the Sage, answering exactly as though he had been spoken to himself--

"'Take the first to the right on Tuesday week, The second to the left on Monday; On Friday you'll not have far to seek, And be sure not to travel on Sunday!'

"But it's no use going at all till you've found the Dodo," he added.

"Good gracious! how did you know that we were looking for it," cried d.i.c.k.

"Oh, I know everything," said the Sage, complacently. "Did you ever know a Sage who didn't?"

"I'm afraid I've never known one at all before, Sir," said d.i.c.k; "but I should think it must be very useful to know such a lot, isn't it?"

"Yes, it isn't bad," admitted the Sage; "would you like to know how I became so clever?"

"Oh, yes, please," cried all the children at once.

Motioning them to a seat on an onion bulb, the little man struck an att.i.tude, and began--

"I was brought up on Verbs of irregular kind, With a p.r.o.noun or two as a treat, While a strict course of Logic, to strengthen my mind, My pastors and masters thought meet.

I had Lessons for breakfast, and Sums for my tea, Learnt to play the Arithmetic nicely, And gained all the prizes at School--don't you see, For construing Doggerel concisely.

They were Isms, and Ologies, Science, and Cram, Quadratic Equations, and b.u.t.ter, The _Pons asinorum_, and Strawberry Jam, And the Cane, did I mumble or mutter."

CHAPTER IV.

STORIES AND TAILS BY THE SAGE.

"Do you mean to say," inquired d.i.c.k, when the Sage had finished, "that all those last things were prizes; because, if so, there isn't a single one of them that I should have cared for much, except the Strawberry Jam?"

"That only shows a great want of taste on your part," said the old Sage, severely. "Isms and Ologies, and things of that sort, are very tasty, when you become used to them."

"What are Isms and Ologies, if you please, Sir?" asked Marjorie.

"Oh, there are various kinds," was the reply. "There's Ge-Ology, for instance, which is lovely spread on bread-and-b.u.t.ter; and Zo-Ology, with Aphor-Ism sauce, is simply delicious."

"They don't sound very nice," said Marjorie, dubiously, making a wry face.

"You don't know anything at all about it, I'm afraid, my dear," said the little old man, decidedly. "You would probably prefer dolls and foolishness of that sort!"

"Yes, I think I should," admitted Marjorie, candidly.

"Do you know _everything_, please, Mr. Sage?" inquired Fidge, who had been very silent during this conversation, which he had not in the least been able to understand.

"Yes, my dear," said the Sage, smiling affably.

"Stories?" inquired Fidge, his eyes wide open with excitement and interest.

The old man nodded.

"Oh! do tell us one, please," begged the little boy. "The Three Bears, or Little Red Riding Hood, or something of that sort."

"Fidge, Fidge," cried d.i.c.k, rebukingly, "you mustn't bother the gentleman."

"Oh, I don't mind in the least," said the Sage, pleasantly. "I'll tell him some stories, if he likes."

"Oh! thanks, that's jolly!" cried Fidge, clapping his hands, and they all sat down again, while the old man began as follows:--

"It was on a dark winter's night, and the hot sun was pouring down upon the----"

"Oh!" interrupted Marjorie, "I beg your pardon, but haven't you made a mistake? It couldn't have been dark, you know, if the sun was shining."

The Sage frowned severely.

"Are you telling this story, or am I?" he asked, coldly.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Marjorie, "please go on."