"Yes, but I am not a bear," said the dwarf, "and I am not going to turn into a prince, you see. However, I will tell you a story, Snow-white, I truly will; only, you see, that poor cow has to be milked."
"All I forgot her!" cried the child. "Now we will hurry, Mark, and run. We will run all the way. You can't run much faster than me, 'cause your legs is short, too. Are you glad? I am! 'Most I wish I was a dwarf, to stay little like you."
"Come!" said the man. His voice sounded rough and harsh; but when the child looked up, startled, he took her in his arms, and kissed her very tenderly, and set her on his back. He would be her horse now, he said, and give her a good ride. And wasn't the hump comfortable to sit on? now she must hold on tight, and he would trot.
He trotted gently through the green wood, and the child shouted with joy, and jumped up and down on the hump. It was a round, smooth hump, and made a good seat.
They did not get on very fast, in spite of the trotting, there was so much to see by the way. Little paths wound here and there through the forest, as if some one walked in it a great deal. The trees in this part were mostly pine and hemlock, and the ground was covered with a thick carpet of brown needles. The hermit thrush called them from deeper depths of woodland; close by, squirrels frisked and chattered among the branches, and dropped bits of pine-cone on the child's head. Were they tame? she asked; the dwarf said she should judge for herself. They sat down, and he bade her keep still, and then gave a queer whistle. Presently a squirrel came, then another, and another, till there were half a dozen of them, gray and red, with one little striped beauty. They sat up on the brown needles, and looked at the dwarf with bright, asking eyes. He took some nuts from his pocket, and then there was a scramble for his knee and his shoulder, and he fed them, talking to them the while, they whisking their tails and cocking their heads, and taking the nuts in their paws as politely as possible. One big gray fellow made a little bow, and that was charming to see.
"Good boy!" said the dwarf. "Good old Simeon! I taught him to do that, Snow-white. You need not be afraid, Sim. This is only Snow-white. She has come to do my cooking and all my work, and she will not touch you. His name is Simeon Stylites, and he lives on a pillar—I mean a dead tree, with all the branches gone. Simeon, if you are greedy, you'll get no more. Consider the example you have to set!"
"Why is he named that?" asked the child.
"Because when he sits up straight on top of his tree, and folds his paws, he looks like an old gentleman of that name, who used to live on top of a pillar, a long time ago."
"Why did he? but why couldn't he get down? but how did he get up? what did he have to eat? why don't you tell me?"
"I never thought much about his getting up," said the dwarf. "I suppose he must have shinned, don't you? and as for getting down, he just didn't. He stayed there. He used to let down a basket every day, or whenever he was hungry, and people put food in it, and then he pulled it up. What did they put? Oh, figs, I suppose, and black bread, and honey. Rather fun, don't you think, to see what would come up?"