“A wilderness!” quavered the little bear, sitting down resignedly on a tree stump. Shading his eyes, Peter stared off in the distance. As far as he could see, there was nothing but a barren stretch of desert, with here and there a tree or jagged rock.
“Let’s start toward that tall pine,” suggested Peter, pulling his cap down hard over his left eye and waving toward a pine tree just visible on the sky line. “If we keep walking we’re bound to come out somewhere, but I’m afraid we’ll never catch up with Ruggedo now.”
“Maybe he’s lost, too,” said Grumpy, ambling along beside Scraps on all fours.
“Yes, but he has a magic cloak to help him,” sighed Peter, “and all we have is an emerald we don’t know how to work.”
“Which tree are we walking toward?” asked Scraps, blinking her suspender button eyes rapidly. “I don’t see any pine tree now, Peter.”
“Neither do I,” growled Grumpy, rising up on his hind legs, and neither did Peter when he looked again. As he strained his eyes for a glimpse of the missing tree, all the stumps and stones around them began to change places as naturally as if it were quite the usual thing to do, while the sand beneath their feet began to slip and slide uncomfortably.
“Wouldn’t this make your hair curl?” Breathing hard, Grumpy edged close to Scraps. As he did, a whole cluster of bushes jumped up and, seizing branches, danced madly about the three travellers.
“Here we go ’round the mulberry bush—mulberry bush—mulberry bush!” chanted Scraps, putting her hands up to her eyes.
“You mean, here they go ’round us!” mumbled Peter dizzily. “Stop! Stop! Go away, I never saw anything so silly.”