Snowfeathers. He darted away and returned before you could count fifty.

   "A traveling musician," he reported. "Come along. It's only a little way."

   Back he flew, with Buddie scrambling after. A few yards brought her to a little open place, and here was the queerest sight she had yet seen in this queer wood.

   On a bank of reindeer moss, at the foot of a great white birch, a mouse-colored donkey sat playing a lute. Over his head, hanging from a bit of bark, was the sign:

     WHILE YOU WAIT

     OLD SAWS RESET

   After the many strange things that Buddie had come upon in Queerwood, nothing could surprise her very much. Besides, as she never before had seen a donkey, or a lute, or the combination of donkey and lute, it did not strike her as especially remarkable that the musician should be holding his instrument upside down, and sweeping the strings with one of his long ears, which

   he was able to wave without moving his head a jot. And this it was that gave to the music its soft and furry-purry quality.

   The Donkey greeted Buddie with a careless nod, and remarked, as if anticipating a comment he had heard many times:

   "Oh, yes; I play everything

    by ear

   ."

   "Please keep on playing," said Buddie, taking a seat on another clump of reindeer moss.

   "I intended to," said the Donkey; and the random chords changed to a crooning melody which wonderfully pleased Buddie, whose opportunities to hear music were sadly few. As for the White Blackbird, he tucked his little head under his wing and went fast asleep.

   "Well, what do you think of it?" asked the Donkey, putting down the lute.

   "Very nice, sir," answered Buddie, enthusiastically; though she added to herself: The idea of saying sir to an animal! "Would you please tell me your name?" she requested.

   The Donkey pawed open a saddle-bag, 

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