“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” said Buddie, much puzzled.
“She means,” said Colonel, “what is the answer to what?”
“I don’t know what the answer to what is, unless it is that,” said the Laziest Beaver. “You often hear people say, that’s what.”
“That is not the question,” objected Colonel.
“Then she should have asked, What’s the question? not, What’s the answer?” declared the Laziest Beaver, triumphantly.
“Question! Question!” cried the Yellow Dog.
“The question is,” said the Laziest Beaver, “why does a rabbit wabble his nose?”
“Oh, I wonder why he does!” cried Buddie. She had had a pet rabbit once upon a time, and she used to feed him long spears of grass, one after the other, and Bunny would take them in just as a printing press takes in rolls of paper—sitting perfectly still the while, and wabbling and wabbling and wabbling his nose.
“Doesn’t he know why himself?” she asked.
“Of course not. If he did he wouldn’t have to go up to The Well to find out, would he?”