Free Stuart Little by E. B. White, Garth Williams Page B

Lane, leaving Stuart alone
with his broken dreams and his damaged canoe.
    XV. Heading North
    Stuart slept under the canoe
that night. He awakened at four to find that the rain had stopped.
    The day would break clear.
Already the birds were beginning to stir and make bright sounds in the branches
overhead. Stuart never let a bird pass without looking to see if it was
Margalo.
    At the edge of the town he
found a filling station and stopped to take on some gas.
    “Five, please,” said Stuart
to the attendant.
    The man looked at the tiny
automobile in amazement.
    “Five what?” he asked.
    “Five drops,” said Stuart.
But the man
    shook his head and said that
he couldn’t sell such a small amount of gas.
    “Why can’t you?” demanded
Stuart. “You need the money and I need the gas. Why can’t we work something out
between us?”
    The filling station man went
inside and came back with a medicine dropper. Stuart unscrewed the cap of the
tank and the man put in five drops of gasoline. “I’ve never done anything like
this before,” he said.
    “Better look at the oil,
too,” said Stuart.
    After everything had been
checked and the money had been paid, Stuart climbed in, started the engine, and
drove out onto the highway. The sky was growing brighter, and along the river
the mists of morning hung in the early light. The village was still asleep.
Stuart’s car purred along smoothly. Stuart felt refreshed and glad to be on
the move again.
    Half a mile out of town the
road forked. One road seemed to go off toward the west, the other road
continued north. Stuart drew up to the side of the northbound road and got out
to look the situation over. To his surprise he discovered that there was a man
sitting in the ditch, leaning against a signpost. The man wore spurs on his
legs. He also wore a heavy leather belt, and Stuart realized that he must be a
repairman for the telephone company.
    “Good morning,” said Stuart
in a friendly voice. The repairman raised one hand to his head in a salute.
Stuart sat down in the ditch beside him and breathed deeply of the fresh, sweet
air. “It’s going to be a fine day,” he observed.
    “Yes,” agreed the repairman,
“a fine day. I am looking forward to climbing my poles.”
    “I wish you fair skies and a
tight grip,” said Stuart. “By the way, do you ever see any birds at the tops of
your poles?”
    “Yes, I see birds in great
numbers,” replied the repairman.
    “Well, if you ever run
across a bird named Margalo,” said Stuart, “I’d appreciate it if you would drop
me a line. Here’s my card.”
    “Describe the bird,” said
the repairman, taking out pad and pencil.
    “Brown,” said Stuart. “Brown,
with a streak of yellow on her bosom.”
    “Know where she comes from?”
asked the man.
    “She comes from fields once
tall with wheat, from
    pastures deep in fern and
thistle; she comes from vales of meadowsweet, and she loves to whistle.”
    The repairman wrote it all
down briefly. “Fields—wheat—pastures, fern and thistle. Vales, meadowsweet.
Enjoys whistling.” Then he put the pad back in his pocket, and tucked Stuart’s
card away in his wallet. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” he promised.
    Stuart thanked him. They sat
for a while in silence. Then the man spoke.
    “Which direction are you
headed?” he asked.
    “North,” said Stuart.
    “North is nice,” said the
repairman.
    “I’ve always enjoyed going
north. Of course, south-west is a fine direction, too.”
    “Yes, I suppose it is,” said
Stuart, thoughtfully.
    “And there’s east,”
continued the repairman. “I once had an interesting experience on an easterly
course. Do you want me to tell you about it?”
    “No, thanks,” said Stuart.
    The repairman seemed
disappointed, but he kept right on talking. “There’s something about north,” he
said, “something that sets it apart from all other directions. A person who is
heading north is not making any mistake, in my opinion.”
    “That’s