Rudolf picked up his sword, and said in as bold a voice as he could manage—­“Please, could any of you tell us the right path to—­”

A burst of sharp squeals, shrill laughs, and jeering remarks interrupted his question.  The whole company of queer creatures dropped to the ground at the same time, and instantly formed a circle about the children, snapping their little white teeth, and grinning and chattering like monkeys.

“Are you the Bad Dreams?” asked Rudolf.  Then, as a burst of laughter contradicted this idea—­“Who are you, then?”

“Who are we?  Who are we?” mocked the creatures.  “O-ho, hear the human!  Doesn’t know us—­never got scolded on our account, did he, did he? Oh, no; oh, no!  Bite him, snatch him, scratch him! Catch him!”

Closer and closer the horrid little things pressed about the two children.  “What do you mean, anyway?” cried Rudolf, keeping them back with his foot as best he could.  “Who are you?  You’re squirrels—­that’s all you are!”

“Squirrels!” The leader of the little wretches seemed furious at the idea.  “No, no,” he screamed, making a dash at Rudolf’s leg with his sharp teeth.  “We’re Fidgets, Fidgets, Fidgets!  Don’t you know the Fidgets when you see ’em, you great blundering human, you?  An old, old family, that’s what we are.  Guess Methuselah had the Fidgets sometimes, guess he did, did, did!” With every one of the last three words he made a snatch at Rudolf, trying his best to bite him, and at the same time dodging cleverly the blows Rudolf was now dealing on all sides with his sword.

Ann had picked up a little stick and was doing her best to help Rudolf in his battle.  “I know you,” she cried, turning angrily on the Fidgets, “you horrid little things!  I’ve had you often, in school just before it’s out, and in church, and when mother takes me out to make calls—­you’ve disgraced her often—­” Then she stopped, really afraid of saying too much.  The Fidgets, with a wild squeal, now began a mad sort of dance round and round the two children, giving them now a nip, now a pinch, now a sharp pull till they were dizzy and frightened and weary of trying to defend themselves against such unequal numbers.

All at once, above the shrill cries of their enemies, the children heard a new sound, a crackling rustling noise in the bushes as if some large creature was making its way through the wood.  The Fidgets heard it, too, and in a twinkling they had hushed their shrill voices, broken their circle, and completely hidden themselves from sight.  It was all so sudden that Rudolf and Ann had no time to run, but stood perfectly still, gazing at the bushes just in front of them from which the noises came.

As they looked the bushes were parted, and a long lean head poked itself through, a large black head with a white streak down its nose, and two great mournful eyes that stared into theirs.  Ann gave a little scream and shrank closer to Rudolf.  The creature opened a wide mouth that showed enormous, ugly, yellow teeth, and said in a rough but not unfriendly voice:  “Hullo!  Oats-and-Broadswords—­if it’s not a couple of lost colts!  Where’d you come from, youngsters?”