The next day the whole town was busy—very busy—gossiping. Everybody told everybody else what the queer little old man had been overheard to say.
But where was the little old man?
Now that they thought of it, who had seen him since the night before?
Nobody!
Where could he be? Had he dropped through a crack in the floor, his disappearance could not have been more sudden or more complete.
Every one was excited. It was not that the town cared particularly about the queer little old man. It was not that, at all. Only the people were curious to learn where he could have gone or what could have happened to him.
Leading from the town was a crooked road that was traveled but little. At the end of the road was a great forest where there lived many animals and birds.
Had any of the townspeople been up very, very early on the morning that the queer little old man disappeared, they need not have been so excited.
For on that morning a bent little figure might have been seen trudging along the crooked road leading toward the forest.
The man was dressed poorly, almost shabbily. He walked slowly, and seemed to be deep in thought.