Tilderee remembered that she was thirsty.  “There must be a brook in yonder,” she said.  “Come, Fudge, let us go and see.”  Trampling among the brambles, the little girl pushed on, and soon came to a small stream dashing along over a stony course.  Forming an oak leaf into a cup, as she had often seen Joan do, Tilderee dipped it into the clear current; and by this means, and the sips between times which she took up in the hollow of her hand, succeeded in obtaining a refreshing drink; while from the opposite bank Fudge put down his head and took his share with less ceremony.

Tilderee chose a seat upon a log and rested.  To amuse herself she broke off pieces of the underbrush and began to strip them of their leaves.  “To make horsewhips, you know,” she explained, with a teasing glance at Fudge.  He understood very well, and shrank away a trifle; but the next minute the baby hands caressed his rough coat, and she added lovingly:  “No, no, Fudge!  Nobody shall touch such a good dog!” Throwing aside the sticks, she tried to weave the leaves into garlands, as Joan had taught her.  The attempt was hardly a success.  As the wreath with which Fudge submitted to be crowned speedily fell apart, she concluded that, instead of making a chain for herself, it would be nicer to carry the oak twig for a sun-shade.  At present, however, she laid it carefully on the ground beside her flowers, and proceeded to play in the stream, with bits of bark for boats.  Fudge enjoyed this too for a while, but soon he grew restless.

All at once the child became aware that the woods had grown darker; the sunlight no longer glanced in among the green boughs; through the foliage she caught a glimpse of the western sky, which was flecked with flame and beryl and amber.  Next she realized that it must be a great while since dinner.  With the sense of hunger came a feeling of dismay.  Where was she, and how should she get home?  “It must be most supper time, Fudge,” she said, choking down a sob.  The little dog looked up into her face with affectionate concern, and thrust his cold nose into her hand, as if to say encouragingly:  “Trust me, and I will lead you back.”  He began to sniff the ground; and, having found the scent, endeavored to prevail upon his young mistress to follow his guidance.  But Tilderee was sure that she knew best.  “No, Fudge,” she called; “not that way.  This is the right path, I’m sure.  Come quick!” Vainly the sagacious animal used all his dumb arts to induce her to rely upon him; vainly he crouched and whined, and begged her to go his way.  Tilderee obstinately stumbled on in the opposite direction.  Fudge laid down and watched her despairingly for a few moments; then, with a sigh almost like that of a human being, he sprang after her.  If actions speak louder than words, could he have said more plainly:  “Well, if you will get lost, I must go with you to take care of you?”