SWEETEST SUSAN WAKING UP
“There are fifty dozen of them,” said Buster John.
“Fifty-five thousand you’d better say,” replied Sweetest Susan. “Just listen!”
“No needs ter listen,” cried Drusilla. “You’d hear ’em ef you plugged up yo’ years.”
Buster John put his knife-blade under a thick piece of pine bark and pried it up to find one of the busy sawyers. The bark was strong, but presently it seemed to come up of its own accord, and out jumped the queerest little man they had ever seen or even heard of except in make-believe story-books. Buster John dropped his knife, and down it went into the wood-pile. He could hear it go rattling from log to log nearly to the bottom. Sweetest Susan gave a little screech. Drusilla sat bolt upright and exclaimed:—
“You all better come en go see yo’ ma. I want ter see ’er myse’f.”
But there was nothing to be frightened at. The tiny man had brushed the dust and trash from his clothes, and then turned to the children with a good-humored smile. He was not above four inches high. He had on a dress-coat. Drusilla afterward described it as a claw-hammer coat, velveteen knickerbockers, and silver buckles on his shoes. His hat was shaped like a thimble, and he had a tiny feather stuck in the side of it.
“I’m much obliged to you for getting me out of that scrape,” he said with a bow to all the children. “It was a pretty tight place. I stayed out last night just one second and a half too late, and when I went to go home I found the door shut. So I just crawled under the bark there for a nap. The log must have turned in some way, for when I woke up and tried to crawl out I found I couldn’t manage it. I wouldn’t have minded that so much, but just then I saw one of those terrible flat-headed creatures making his way toward me. Why, his head was a sawmill! He was gnawing the wood out of his way and clearing a road to me. I tried to draw my sword, but I couldn’t get it from under me. Then I felt the bark rising. I pushed as hard as I could, and here I am.”
“Ax ’im his name,” said Drusilla in an awe-stricken tone.
“Ah, I forgot,” responded the little man. “I know you, but you don’t know me. My name is Mr. Thimblefinger, and I shall be happy to serve you. Whenever you want me just tap three times on the head of your bed.”