“That will be good fun,” said Winikin.
Goldlocks ran and hid himself. At the beating of the drum Winikin found him quite easily. Then Winikin hid but he had hardly struck the drum with his stick until there was Goldlocks! So they played for some time but at last Goldlocks hid himself so well that, though he kept beating his drum, Winikin could not find him. He ran to the right and to the left but it was of no use. The sound seemed to come from all directions at once. He tapped his own drum, and cried out, “Come back, Goldlocks! Where are you? Come back!”
He beat his drum so hard that it snapped! It was growing very dark! The brambles grew thicker at every step! The sound of Goldlocks’ drum was growing fainter and fainter until at last Winikin could not hear it at all. He scratched his hands and tore his clothes at every step, but at last he found a path which led out of the thick wood.
He walked along until he came to a small lake; “Oh! what shall I do,” he cried. “I’ve missed the way old Roger told me to take! Where shall I stay to-night!”
In a little while he saw Goldlocks with smiling face coming towards him. The lad carried a couple of battledores, covered with silver nets. The handles were of richly carved gold. He had a shuttlecock, too, which was made from the plumes of a hummingbird.
“Why, what is the matter?” asked Goldlocks.
“Oh! I thought you had run away, and left me,” cried Winikin. “And I’ve lost my way! I don’t know what to do.”
“Let’s play a game of battledore,” was Goldlocks’ answer.
Winikin dried his tears and said. “Tell me where you get such pretty toys.”
“I’ve plenty more at home, and prettier ones than these,” replied his companion.