Lightfoot and Dido stood looking at one another for a few seconds. It was the first time the goat had ever seen a bear, for though there were wild animals in the park where Mike used to drive him, Lightfoot had never been taken near the bear dens. But it was not the first time Dido had seen a goat.

“Do you like raspberries?” asked Dido, pulling a branch toward him with his big paw and stripping them off into his big red mouth.

“I don’t know,” answered the goat. “I never ate any.”

“Help yourself,” invited Dido. “Just reach out your paw and with your long claw-nails strip off the berries into your mouth.”

“But I haven’t any paw,” said Lightfoot.

“That’s right, you haven’t,” observed Dido reflectively, scratching his black nose. “Well, you have a mouth, anyhow, that’s one good thing. You’ll have to pick off the berries one by one in your lips. You can do that.”

“Yes, I think I can do that,” answered Lightfoot, and he did. At first the briars on the berry bush stuck him, but he soon found a way to keep clear of them. Dido did not seem to mind them in the least.

“Did you say you were a dancing bear?” asked Lightfoot of his new friend, when they had eaten as many berries as they wanted.

“Yes, I can dance. Wait, I’ll show you,” and in a little glade in the woods Dido began to dance slowly about.

“That’s fine!” said Lightfoot. “I wish I could dance.”

“Can you do any tricks?” asked Dido. “I can play soldier, turn somersaults and things like that.”

“I can draw children about the park in a little cart,” said the goat, “and I am a good jumper, I’ll show you,” and he gave a big jump from a log to a large, flat rock.

“You are a good jumper,” said Dido. “That is much farther than I could jump. Some of the men in the circus could jump farther than that, though.”

“What do you know about a circus?” asked Lightfoot.

“I used to be in one,” answered Dido. “In fact I may go back again. I am out now, traveling around with my master who blows a brass horn to gather together the boys and girls. And when they stand in a circle around me I do my tricks and my master takes up the pennies in his hat. It’s lots of fun.”

“Where is your master now?” asked Lightfoot.

“He is asleep, not far away, under a tree. He lets me wander off by myself, for he knows I would not run away. I like him too much and I like the circus. I want to go back to it.”

“I met some one who was in a circus,” said Lightfoot.

“Who?” the dancing bear asked.

“Tinkle, a pony,” answered the goat.

“Why, I know him!” cried Dido. “He is a jolly pony chap. He draws a little boy and girl about in a cart.”

“That’s right,” said Lightfoot. “I did the same thing for the children in the park. Oh, how I wish I were back with my master, Mike,” and he told about his adventures, and the dancing bear told his, speaking of having been put in a book, like Tinkle.

“Do you think you could tell me the way back to the shanty at the foot of the rocks, where I made my first big jump?” asked Lightfoot of Dido, after a while.

The bear thought for a minute.

“No,” he answered slowly, in animal talk, “I don’t believe I could, I’m sorry to say. I have traveled about in many places, but if I have gone past the shanty where the Widow Malony lives, I do not remember it.”

Just then came through the woods a sound like:

“Ta-ra! Ta-ra! Ta-rattie tara!”

“What’s that?” asked Lightfoot, in surprise.

“That’s my master, blowing the brass horn to tell me to come back,” answered Dido. “I must go. Well, I’m glad to have met you. And if you ever get to the circus give my regards to Tum Tum, the jolly elephant, and Mappo, the merry monkey.”

“I will,” promised Lightfoot. “I have heard Tinkle, the trick pony, speak of both of them. Good-by!”

“Good-by!” called Dido, and, with a wave of his big paw, stained from the berries he had pulled off to eat, he lumbered away through the woods to his master who was blowing the horn for him.

“Well, I had a nice visit,” said Lightfoot to himself as he ate a few more berries. “Dido would be good company, but I can not travel with him, as I can do no tricks. I wonder if I shall ever find my own home again.”

On and on through the woods wandered Lightfoot. Now and then he would stop to nibble some grass or leaves, and again to get a drink from some spring or brook. When he was tired he would stretch out under a bush or a tree and go to sleep. Then he would wander on again.

The second night in the woods found him far from the canal, and much farther from the park and his home near the big rocks. He was completely lost now, and did not know where he was. But it was not so bad as if a boy or a girl were lost. For Lightfoot could find plenty to eat all around him. He had but to stop and nibble it. And, as it was Summer, it was warm enough to sleep out of doors without any shelter, such as a barn or a shed.

One day as Lightfoot was eating some blackberries in the way Dido, the dancing bear, had taught him, he heard a noise in the bushes as though some one were coming through.

“Oh, maybe that is the dancing bear!” exclaimed the lonesome goat. “I hope it is.”

An animal presently jumped through the bushes out on the path and stood looking at Lightfoot; but at first glance the leaping goat saw that it was not Dido. It was a small white animal, with very large ears, one of which drooped over, giving the animal a comical look.

“Hello!” exclaimed Lightfoot in a friendly voice. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“Maybe not,” was the answer. “But I’ve seen you, or some one like you. A boy, in whose woodshed I once lived, had a goat like you.”

“Was his name Mike?” asked Lightfoot eagerly. And then he knew it could not be, for he knew his Mike had no such animal as this.

“No, his name was not Mike,” was the answer. “But what is your name?”

“Lightfoot.”

“Mine’s Flop Ear, and I’m a rabbit. A funny rabbit some folks call me. I’m in a book.”

“This is queer,” said Lightfoot. “You speak about being in a book. So did Dido, the dancing bear.”

“Oh, did you meet Dido?” cried Flop Ear, looking at Lightfoot in a funny way. “Isn’t he the dearest old bear that ever was?”

“I liked him,” said Lightfoot.

“And he’s almost as jolly as Tum Tum, the jolly elephant. Tum Tum is in a book, too.”

“What’s all this about being in a book?” asked Lightfoot.

“Well, I don’t exactly understand it myself,” answered Flop Ear. “But I know children like to read the books about us. Tell me, have you had any adventures?”

“I should say I had!” cried Lightfoot. “I ran away, and I was on a canal boat, and I climbed a hill of coal and—”

“That’s enough!” cried Flop Ear, raising one paw. “You’ll find yourself in a book before you know it. Then you’ll understand without my telling you. Would you like to have a bit of cabbage?”

“I should say I would,” cried Lightfoot. “I’ve been living on grass, berries and leaves—”

“Well, I brought some cabbage leaves with me when I came for a walk this morning,” said Flop Ear, “and there’s more than I want, and you are welcome to them.” From the ground where he had dropped it Flop Ear picked up a cabbage leaf and hopped with it over to Lightfoot. The goat was glad to get it, and while he was chewing it he told the rabbit of running away from the park. In his turn Flop Ear told how he had been caught by a boy and how he had gnawed his way out with the mice, meeting Grandma Munch in the woods.

“And so I’ve lived in the woods ever since,” said Flop Ear.

“Could you tell me how to get out of the woods and back to my home with Mike, near the rocks?” asked Lightfoot.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” answered the rabbit.

The rabbit and the goat talked in animal language for some little time longer, then Flop Ear said he must go back to his burrow, or underground home.

“And I’ll travel on and see if I can find my home,” said Lightfoot. “I’ve been lost long enough.”

For two or three days more Lightfoot wandered about in the woods. He looked everywhere, but he could not find his home near the rocks. One afternoon, as he was asleep under a tree, he was suddenly awakened by feeling something hit him on the nose.

“I wonder if it’s going to rain?” said Lightfoot, jumping up suddenly. Then something hit him on his left horn and bounded off. Lightfoot saw that it was an acorn, many of which he had seen in the woods.

“I guess it fell off a tree,” he said.

“No, it didn’t. I dropped it,” said a chattering voice in the air. “I am lonesome and I wanted some one to talk to. So I awakened you by dropping an acorn on your pretty black nose. Excuse me.”

“But who are you and where are you?” asked Lightfoot.

“I am Slicko, the jumping squirrel,” was the answer, “and I’m perched on a limb right over your head.”

Lightfoot looked up, and there, surely enough, was a little gray animal with a very big tail, much larger than Lightfoot’s small one.