'True,' said the wren, 'true. But so long as there are men, birds must expect to be shot. It's all in the day's work and must be endured. But for one's body to go to the milliner's is intolerable. Intolerable.' The little creature suddenly swallowed its rage, and continued more sweetly: 'Now, as to the Flamp. What you want, Toby, is a Flamp compass.'
'What's that?' Tobene asked.
'Why, an ordinary compass points to the north, doesn't it? Well, a Flamp compass points to the Flamp,' said the wren. 'Then you can find the way.'
'But where are we to get one?' was Tobene's very natural question.
'The hedgehog makes them,' said the wren. 'On the other side of this dell you will see a line of bushes. The hedgehog lives under the fourteenth. Knock on the ground three times and he'll come out. Now I must be off. Good-morning.' And with these words the fiery-crested wren flitted away.
At the fourteenth bush the children knocked three times on the ground.
'Well?' said a surly voice.
'Please we want a Flamp compass,' said Tilsa.
At once the hedgehog appeared. 'I beg your pardon,' he said in softer tones, 'but I mistook you for the rates and taxes, or I shouldn't have spoke so short. I wasn't expecting customers so early. A Flamp compass? Why, I don't think I have one in stock. You see, since the Flamps died off, the demand has been so small that very few are made. There's my own, which has been in the family for years, but I shouldn't care to part with that except at a high price.'
'How much would you call a high price, sir?' Tilsa inquired a little anxiously.