XXIII
A STRANGE MISTAKE
Not wishing to be late at his cousin’s party, which he understood was to begin at five o’clock, Rusty Wren hurried along the bank of Black Creek, while Mr. Frog did his best to keep pace with him.
Somewhat out of breath, the two arrived shortly at the home of Long Bill Wren. And, to their surprise, they saw not the least sign of any other guests.
“It looks as if we were the first to get here,” Rusty Wren remarked, as they drew near Long Bill’s house in the reeds.
“Well, somebody has to be first, you know,” the tailor observed easily. “I always like to be early at a party,” he added, “because then I am sure of getting plenty of refreshments.”
If there were no other guests to be seen, neither was there any indication of a party about Long Bill’s home. There was nothing to eat anywhere in sight; and no flag, nor gay Chinese lantern, nor decoration of any other kind adorned his house.
Rusty Wren had always thought his cousin’s house a strange dwelling. Made of coarse grasses and reed stalks, it was round, like a big ball, with a doorway in one side. This queer building was fastened among the reeds a little distance above the ground. And it seemed to Rusty Wren that it must be a damp and unhealthful place to live.
“It’s odd that your cousin’s not here to greet us,” Mr. Frog croaked.
The words were scarcely out of his large mouth when Long Bill thrust his head and shoulders out of his door—for he had heard the voices in his front yard. He had on a shocking old coat—not at all the sort one would choose to wear when one expected guests.