Buster spent the rest of the day in the cellar of the house where the little girl lived, sleeping part of the time and playing with his little friend whenever she had the time to come down. There were many things in the cellar that smelt good—jams and jellies stored away in a closet, potatoes, apples and cabbages in bins, and boxes full of dry groceries—but Buster did not touch any of these. He ate what the little girl fed him, and nothing else.

As the day dragged along, and night approached, he thought more and more of the North Woods where he had been born. He saw the beautiful river that flowed past the cave, heard the tinkling of the waves and the songs of the birds, and sniffed the fragrance of the millions of wild flowers. He thought of his mother, who had mourned his death—of Loup the Lynx, who had driven him from home, and made him an exile.

And the more he thought of these things, the more anxious he was to return to the[126] woods. He was not needed in the circus now. Chiquita had gone, and he would never find another trainer like her. The little girl was his friend and loved him, but he could have no home with her. Then the place for him was in the woods where he would be free to roam about and hunt as he chose.

It was nearly dark when the little girl said good-night to him. She kissed him on the tip of the nose, and Buster felt a desire to take her in his arms and hug her. But he knew that would never do. His gentlest hug might break her little bones and kill her. So he contented himself with a smile and grin, and waved a paw to her as she closed the door.

Buster ate the supper she had brought down to him. He felt that he needed it all for his great journey. It might be days before he could get another such supper. It was quite dark outside when he had finished.

But there were lights upstairs and sounds of voices. Buster sat down and waited until they had all gone to bed, and the house was as quiet as a mouse. Then he got up and began preparing for his escape. The windows were out of the question, for they were too small for him to crawl through. So he devoted himself to breaking through the outside door.

[127]This was locked, but Buster leaned his heavy weight against it until the lock creaked and then snapped. The door sprung open so suddenly that he tumbled outside all in a heap. The night was clear and quiet. The noise made by the bursting of the lock did not seem to disturb anybody, and Buster started across the fields in a slow jog trot.

When he reached the border of the swamp, he skirted the edge instead of plunging through it. He finally came out on the road where he had frightened the man carrying a basket of pies and rolls. He smiled at the remembrance of it, and wondered if the man would come again with another basketful of good things.

Buster had started out with the intention of finding his way back to the North Woods, but he soon found himself in a quandary. Which way should he go to find them? And how far off were they?

He might have been compelled, after all, to return to the little girl’s house and go to the Zoo for the rest of his days, if he hadn’t stumbled by accident upon Sleepy the Opossum cuddled up in a crotch of a tree.

“Hello, Sleepy,” he called, “can you direct me to the North Woods, and tell me how far I must travel to reach them?”

[128]“Follow the wind, Buster,” replied Sleepy, “and travel day and night until you get there. That’s all I know.”

The wind was blowing from the north, and after traveling in that direction all night, crossing fields, woods and swamps, he came to rest in a dense thicket. “I’ll sleep here,” he said, “until night, and then go on.”

............