“Onions!” was the reply, spoken by a strange voice.
The children turned around, and beheld a curious little old man with a long flowing beard coming toward them.
“Have you any other questions to ask?” he inquired, pleasantly.
“It’s very kind of you, Sir,” said Dick, who was the first to recover from the surprise which they had all experienced at this sudden apparition. “Will you, please, tell us where we are?”
“Oh,” said the little man, with a smile, “this is the Field of Onions. And I am the Sage with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of Onions. And that is the Hut of curious build which belongs to the Sage with the snowy beard who dwells in the Field of Onions.
“Is there anything else I can tell you? If so, pray ask me. I like it.”
“What a funny man,” whispered Marjorie. “Do you think he is quite right in his head?”
“Hush!” said Dick. “Perhaps he can direct us to the Little Panjandrum’s, and then we can find the Ambassador easily.”
“Little Panjandrum’s, certainly,” said the Sage, answering exactly as though he had been spoken to himself—
“”Take the first to the right on Tuesday week,
The second to the left on Monday;
On Friday you’ll not have far to seek,
And be sure not to travel on Sunday!”