"It comes from there," replied Alexander. "Over there, you know."
"But I don't know—and where is 'over there,' and why does nobody ever answer questions properly?"
Alexander looked as if he were going to say, "Wait and see," but George looked really vexed—so he didn't.
"We'd better go down and see," he said, and bounded down the mountain-side. Oh, you have no idea how fast they ran! It was almost like flying.
At last they came to a forest of pine-trees through which the path seemed to lead. Into the forest they ran helter-skelter. There must have been thousands of trees; there seemed to be no end to them, and no way through except by the little path which curled in and out and round about.
Curly paths are the best; they enjoy having a little fun, for just as you think you are getting to wherever you want to go you find that the path has turned itself round and is staring you in the face.
Straight paths just go there. They are rather dull unless you are in a hurry, and then it doesn't matter.
This path was sometimes curly and sometimes not. It never seemed to be quite sure what it wanted to do. At last it made up its mind, unrolled itself, and ran as straight as the straightest line right through the wood and out into the sun again.
"Look there!" cried George, pointing, to the branch of a tree just in front of them. There, perched on it and shining away like anything, was the little weathercock!