"It is," answered the Good Wolf. "I chose the kind—like Robinson Crusoe's, you know."
"It is a very nice one," said Barty, "and I am much obliged to you." Then he dug his toe into the sand a little. "I am just thinking about my mother," he said while he was doing it.
The Good Wolf looked as cheerful as ever. "I had something in my pink ear which I shook out as we passed your cottage," he chuckled. "It's a kind of scent like mignonette and it makes mothers forget the time. It's very useful in case of long journeys, because when you come back they never say 'where have you been?' They don't know how long you have been away. I shook out a whole lot when we passed your house and I heard your mother say 'how sweet the mignonette smells to-day!'"
Barty's face was quite cheerful by the time the Good Wolf had finished. "I'm so glad I know you," he said. "You can do everything, can't you?" The Good Wolf looked thoughtful again (which makes three times), and he scratched his ear with his hind foot more seriously than ever.
"Look here," he said. "There is something I shall be obliged to tell you."
"What is it?" asked Barty, feeling very much interested.
"I can't do everything on desert islands."
"Can't you shake things out of your ears?" exclaimed Barty.
"No," answered the Good Wolf. "I won't deceive you. I can't."
Barty could hardly gasp out "Why?"