Mollie and the Unwiseman. Bangs John Kendrick

Unwiseman. He's an unwiseman who doesn't know anything," explained Bopeep. "The rules require that we go to him first and ask him if he knows where the sheep are. He'll say he doesn't know, and then we'll go on to the little old woman who lives under the hill. She'll know where they are, but she'll tell us wrong. Hi! Whistlebinkie and Flaxilocks! Turn off to the left, and stop at that little red house under the oak tree."

      "There isn't any little red house under the oak tree," said Mollie.

      "Oh, yes, there is," said Bopeep. "Only you've got to know it's there before you can see it. The Unwiseman lives there."

      Whistlebinkie and Flaxilocks did as they were told, and, sure enough, in a minute there appeared a little red house under the oak tree just as Bopeep had said. Mollie was delighted, it was such a dainty little house, with its funny gables and a roof made of strawberry icing. The window-panes were shining like silver, and if Bopeep was not mistaken were made of sugar. But funnier still was the Unwiseman himself, a queer-looking, wrinkled-up little old man who sat in the doorway trying to smoke a pipe filled with soapsuds.

      "Good-afternoon, O Unwiseman," said Bopeep.

      "Hoh!" sneered the Unwiseman. "Good-afternoon! This isn't afternoon. It's day before yesterday morning."

      Mollie giggled.

      "Hush!" whispered Bopeep. "He doesn't know any better. You can see that he doesn't know anything by looking at his pipe. He's been trying to smoke those soapsuds now for a week. The week before he was trying to blow bubbles with it, only he had corn-silk in it then instead of soapsuds. That shows what kind of a man he is."

      "What can I do for you to-day, Bopeep?" asked the Unwiseman as he touched a lighted match to the suds, which immediately sputtered and went out.

      "I wanted to know if you had seen anything of my sheep," said Bopeep.

      "Let's see," said the Unwiseman. "Let's see. Sheep are what? They aren't anything like telegraph poles or wheelbarrows, are they?"

      "No," said Bopeep, "they are not."

      "Then maybe I have seen them," said the Unwiseman, with a smile of satisfaction. "Maybe I have. Several things went by here day after to-morrow that weren't a bit like wheelbarrows or telegraph poles. They may have been your sheep. One of the things had four red wheels on it – have any of your sheep got four red wheels on them?"

      Whistlebinkie nearly exploded as the Unwiseman said this, but the queer old gentleman was not learned enough to know mirth when he saw it, so that no harm was done.

      "No," said Bopeep. "My sheep had no wheels."

      "Then I must have seen them," said the Unwiseman. "There was a thing went by here a week from next Tuesday noon that hadn't any wheels. It had two legs and carried a fan, or a fish-pole – I couldn't tell which it was – and it was whistling. Maybe that was one of the sheep."

      "No," said Bopeep again, shaking her head. "My sheep don't whistle and they have four legs."

      "Nonsense," said the Unwiseman, with a wink. "You can't fool me that way. I know a horse when I hear one described, and when any one tells me that the thing with four legs and no whistle is a sheep I know better. And so my dear, since you've tried to trifle with me you can go along. I won't tell you another thing about your old sheep. I don't know anything about 'em anyhow."

      Whereupon the old man got up from his chair and climbed the oak tree to look for apples, while the searching party went on to the little old woman who lived under the hill, and Bopeep asked her if she knew anything about the sheep.

      "Yes," said the little old woman, with a frown which frightened poor Whistlebinkie so that he gasped and whistled softly in spite of his efforts to keep quiet. "Yes, I've seen your sheep. I know just where they are, too. One of 'em's gone to the moon. Another has been adopted by a girl named Mary, who is going to take it to school and make the children laugh. Another has sold his wool to a city merchant, and the fourth has accepted an invitation to dinner from a member of Congress. He will reach the dinner at half-past seven to-night on a silver platter. He will be decorated with green peas and mint sauce. Now get along with you."

      Mollie felt very sorry for poor Bopeep as she listened to this dreadful statement, and she was very much surprised to see Bopeep smiling through it all.

      "Why did you smile?" she asked the little shepherdess as they wended their way home again.

      "Because I knew from what she said that she knew the sheep were safe – but she lives on ink, and that makes her disagreeable. She just wanted to make me feel as disagreeable as she does, and she told me all that nonsense to accomplish that purpose."

      "The horrid thing!" said Mollie.

      "No," said Bopeep. "She isn't really horrid. It's only because she lives on ink that she seems so. Suppose you had to live on ink?"

      "I'd be horrid, too," said Mollie.

      "There they are!" cried Bopeep joyfully, and sure enough there were the sheep, and they had brought their tails behind them, too. They were grazing close beside the hay-stack on which Mollie had been pondering.

      "I am very much obliged to you for your help and company," said Bopeep, "and now as it is six o'clock, I must drive my sheep home. Good-by."

      "Good-by," said Mollie, kissing the little shepherdess affectionately.

      "Good-by," said Flaxilocks, sinking back on the clover pillow, and closing her great blue eyes again.

      "Gubby," whistled Whistlebinkie through his hat.

      "Wasn't it queer?" said Mollie later as they wended their way home again.

      "Very," said Flaxilocks.

      "Queeresperiensieverad," whistled Whistlebinkie.

      "What's that?" cried Mollie.

      "Queerest – experience – I – ever – had," said Whistlebinkie.

      "Ah!" said Mollie. "I didn't care much for the little old woman under the hill, but that funny old Unwiseman – I'd like to meet him again."

      And the others agreed that it would indeed be pleasant to do so.

      II

      A Visit to the Unwiseman

      In which Mollie Renews an Acquaintance

      Whistlebinkie, said Mollie, one afternoon, as she and he were swaying gently to and fro in the hammock, "do you remember the little red house under the oak tree?"

      "Yessum," whistled Whistlebinkie, "I mean yes – ma'am," he added hurriedly.

      "And the Unwiseman who lived there?"

      "Yes, I remember him puffickly," said Whistlebinkie. "I think he knows less than any person I ever sawed."

      "Not sawed but saw, Whistlebinkie," said Mollie, who was very anxious that her rubber doll should speak correctly.

      "Oh, yes!" cried Whistlebinkie. "I think he sawed less than any man I ever knew – or rather – well – I guess you know what I mean, don't you?"

      "Yes, I do," said Mollie, with a smile. "But tell me, Whistlebinkie dear, wouldn't you like to go with me, and pay the Unwiseman a visit?"

      "Has he sent you a bill?" asked Whistlebinkie.

      "What for, pray?" queried Mollie, with a glance of surprise at Whistlebinkie.

      "To tell you that you owed him a visit, of course," said Whistlebinkie. "There isn't any use of our paying him anything unless we owe him something, is there?"

      "Oh, I see!" said Mollie. "No, we don't owe him one, but I think we'd enjoy ourselves very much if we made him one."

      "All right, let's," said Whistlebinkie.

      "What'll we make it of, worsted or pasteboard?"

      "Whistlebinkie," observed Mollie, severely, "you are almost as absurd as the old man himself. The idea of making a visit out of worsted or pasteboard! Come along. Stop your joking and let us start."

      The rubber doll was quite willing to agree to this, and off they started. In a very little