"No," said Jimmieboy, "I never did. How does it go?"

"This way," replied the Wizard, and then he repeated these lines:

"'I would rather be free in a dungeon cell Than a captive at large in a flowered dell; I would rather be free 'neath a load of chains Than a prisoner roaming the country lanes.

I would rather be free in an ice-bound cave Than to sit on a throne as another's slave; For all the great blessings with which man's blest 'Tis freedom, sweet freedom that I love the best.'"

"That's a pretty song," said Jimmieboy. "And I think maybe you are right. I feel that way myself sometimes. Once in a while when I'm told I can't do something, I feel that way. I always want to do that thing more than ever."

"You are just like me, then--though really I didn't think much about freedom and how nice it was, and what a dreadful thing captivity was, until I had a little chat one night with a song-bird. She was cooped up in a cage, and sometimes she nearly broke her wings flattering up against the bars of it trying to get out. As I watched her I wondered how she could sing so happily when she was shut up that way, and I asked her about it. She answered me softly, 'It isn't I that is happy. It is my song that is happy because it is free.' And then she sang this little verse to me:

"Though they shut me close in these brazen bars, Though they keep me a captive long, Yet my notes will rise Till they touch the skies.

No man can imprison my song."

"I've always felt sorry for birds in cages," said Jimmieboy, when the Wizard had spoken. "And I've wondered, too, how they could sing so sweetly when all the day long they were locked up with nothing to do but jump from one perch to another, or swing in that little swing at the top of the cage."

"Well, there's one thing that's nice about their lives," said the Wizard. "They don't have anybody to quarrel with. I think that's very fine."

"That's true," said Jimmieboy. "And then, too, when one bird wants to swing there isn't any other little bird that he has to give up to; but I'd rather be free, and take my chances of getting the swing, wouldn't you?"

"Rather!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Wizard. "But, my dear fellow, we are wasting time. The Merboy will be back in a few minutes, and if you want to see all the wonders of this place we must hurry. Come. Let's go out into the garden."

The queer little fellow leading the way, the two new friends went out of the drawer. As they sauntered along, Thumbhi reached out his hands and plucked two pretty flowers from a bush at the side of the path, and putting one of them in his mouth handed the other to Jimmieboy.

"You must be hungry by this time," he said. "Eat that."

"Flowers aren't good to eat, are they?" asked Jimmieboy.

"Cauliflowers and the flowers of this garden are. That is nothing but a biscuit-bush I plucked those from. Didn't you ever see a biscuit-bush?"

"Never," said Jimmieboy; "though I should think they'd be very nice."

"They are," said the Wizard.

"How do you make them grow?" asked Jimmieboy in surprise.

"Simple enough," said Thumbhi. "Take the Buckwheat-cake bush, for instance. Buckwheat cakes are nothing more than cooked buckwheat, so instead of planting the seeds raw we plant them cooked, and when they grow up and sprout, instead of putting forth raw buckwheat out come the cakes. Try one."

Jimmieboy needed no second bidding, for as the Wizard spoke he had reached over to the buckwheat-cake bed, and plucked a half-dozen hot, steaming cakes.

"My!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jimmieboy, as he swallowed the first one, somewhat greedily, perhaps, for he was very hungry. "My! How sweet they are."

"Aren't they!" said the Wizard. "And why shouldn't they be? We water the Buckwheat-cake bushes with maple syrup."

The idea was so overpoweringly lovely that Jimmieboy could not find words to express his delight over it. He simply let his eyes open a little wider, but the twinkle in them showed the Wizard how he felt.

"Now here," said the Wizard, tapping a little door in a curious-looking summer-house--"here is where we keep our tools. They are the funniest tools you ever saw in your life. They do all their own work. I'll introduce you to some of them. Mr. Rake!"

"Well?" came a voice from within. "Well, what's wanted? If you are the gravel path you might as well trot away. I can't smooth you off to-day, and if you are the weed path, I've asked Mr. Hoe to attend to you. I'm having trouble with my teeth."

"It's I--Thumbhi," said the Wizard.

"Oh," came the answer. "Why didn't you say so."

Here the door was opened, and the Rake hopped out.

"Good-morning," he said. "I didn't know it was you or I wouldn't have kept you waiting. Who is your young friend?"

"Jimmieboy," returned the Wizard. "This is his first visit, and I didn't know but what you'd show him how you do your work."

"I'd be very glad to," said the Rake, "but it's impossible this morning.

I spent all day yesterday raking the candy field, and it has made my teeth ache like seventy-two--which is twelve more than like sixty; but if he's fond of jokes I can give him a few. Why is a--"

"Well, really," said the Wizard, who knew the Rake's jokes were very bad, and who was therefore anxious to spare Jimmieboy the trouble of hearing them, "we don't like to bother you. We'll run along--"

"No bother, I a.s.sure you," said the Rake. "I know it by heart. Why is a trolley-car like a grindstone without any handle?"

"I couldn't possibly guess," said Jimmieboy, with a grin.

"They don't either of them smoke cigarettes, of course," said the Rake.

"I should think anybody could have told that. Now, can you tell me why a--"

"Thumbhi!" came a voice in the distance.

"Excuse me for a minute," said Thumbhi. "I think I hear somebody calling me," and he was off.

"You'd better follow him, Jimmieboy," said the Rake, kindly. "Don't lose sight of him for an instant. This is his way of getting rid of you. He brought you in here to tell you his history, didn't he?"

"Yes," said Jimmieboy.

"Well, he hasn't got one," whispered the Rake. "He hasn't got one, and he never had one, and this having himself called away is only one of his tricks. Keep your eye on him or you're lost."

[Ill.u.s.tration: JIMMIEBOY STARTED IN PURSUIT.]

With this the Rake slammed the door of the tool-house, and Jimmieboy turning about peered down the path at the Wizard, who was running as fast as his legs could carry him. Jimmieboy started in pursuit--and what a pursuit it was! Like the wind they ran, mile after mile round and round the garden, through forests that turned up on the road here and there, and once in awhile with great bounds jumping over rivers and mountains, until finally Thumbhi turned suddenly, ran backwards directly past Jimmieboy, and before the little visitor had time to turn around was lost to sight.

Jimmieboy was now quite lost. He had no idea as to his whereabouts. The garden had long since disappeared, and so fast had he run the boy had failed to notice in what direction he had come.

"Humph!" he said, seating himself by the road to catch his breath.

"Here's a muddle. I wonder where the Merboy is?"

"Here I am," came a subdued little voice that sounded miles away. "Take the first door to your right, open it, and you'll find me."

Jimmieboy started up and walked, it seemed to him, for hours, but no door appeared anywhere until, just as the sun was setting, he came to a big oak-tree with a little bit of a door half-way up its trunk.

"I wonder if that's it?" said the puzzled boy, scratching his head.

"Yes," came the voice from the inside. "Climb up and come in."