Mr. Thimblefinger reflected a while, and then shook his head. “I can show it to you,” he said, “but I can’t describe it.”
“Pick ’im up an’ show ’im to your ma!” exclaimed Drusilla suddenly.
“No, no, no!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, leaping to his feet. “That would spoil everything. No grown person living in this country has ever seen me. No, no! don’t try that. It would spoil your luck. I wouldn’t be here now if the Dolls’ Grandmother hadn’t begged me to come with her last night. But I’ll come to see you,”—he pointed at Drusilla. “I’ll come often.”
“I des said dat fer ter see what you’d say,” protested Drusilla. “You wan’ gwine ter take ’im, wuz you, honey?” This question was addressed to Buster John, who scorned to answer it.
“Grown people wouldn’t understand me,” Mr. Thimblefinger explained. “They know a great deal too much to suit me.”
“How do you get to your country?” inquired Buster John, who was keen for an adventure.
“The nearest way is by the spring,” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “That is the only way you could go.”
“Can I go too?” asked Sweetest Susan. “And Drusilla?”
“Oh, of course,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, shrugging his shoulders. “One can go or all can go.”
“Do you go down the spring branch?” asked Buster John.