wake him up, for Blunder's fairy godmother had told him that this was a great philosopher, who sat up all night to study the habits of frogs and mice, and knew everything but what went on in the day-*light, under his nose; and he could think of nothing better to say to this great philosopher than, "Good Mr. Owl, will you please show me the way to the Wishing-Gate?"
"Eh! what's that?" cried the owl, starting out of his nap. "Have you brought me a frog?"
"No," said Blunder, "I did not know that you would like one. Can you tell me the way to Wishing-Gate?"
"Wishing-Gate! Wishing-Gate!" hooted the owl, very angry. "Winks and naps! how dare you disturb me for such a thing as that? Do you take me for a mile-stone? Follow your nose, sir, follow your nose!"—and, ruffling up his feathers, the owl was asleep again in a moment.
But how could Blunder follow his nose? His nose would turn to the right, or take him through the woods, whichever way his legs went, and "what was the use of asking the owl," thought Blunder, "if this was all?" While he hesitated, a chipmunk came scurrying down the path, and, seeing Blunder, stopped short with a little squeak.
"Good Mrs. Chipmunk," said Blunder, "can you tell me the way to the Wishing-Gate?"
"I can't, indeed," answered the chipmunk,
