While from behind the wall of the round white tent came the merriest of voices in reply, singing, almost as softly:
“Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan;
Here’s Dan, Dan, Diggeldy Dan!”
“Then,” said the bird, who had by this time perched itself on the nose of one of the little round poles that stuck out near the caves of the round white tent, “come forth at once, sir.”
And at this command the canvas wall of the round white tent was parted by the very hands of the one who had been jiggling it in his impatience to put it aside; and, little by little, as if he feared that those who slept might waken, there appeared the funniest little old man in all the world.
First came his head, all white and smooth and crowned by a queer round hat that came to a point at the top. And his ears were white, too, and so was his face, except for his red, red lips and five curious spots of red—one on his chin, one on his brow, one on each cheek, and one on the tip of his long, funny nose. He wore a collar that was all ruffled and round and a baggy white suit, trimmed with great polka-dot patches, that might have been likened to very red apples, except for the fact that half of them were blue.
“Come, come! Make haste there, Dan—if, indeed, you are Diggeldy Dan,” cried the bird from its perch on the little round pole.
“Quite so, quite so,” chuckled the funny old man. And, suiting himself to his words, he made a quick skip into the open, danced three steps to the left and three to the right, and then, doffing his queer, sugar-loaf hat, made a very grand courtesy in the direction of the bird, saying as he did so:
“At your service, little messenger.”
“Ah, then you know who I am!” exclaimed the one who had come out of the west. “But I must be very sure. So tell me, if you can, what rhymes with this: