“That isn’t the question at all,” put in Jensina, rather snappily, for she was getting bored with watching Poor Cecco stick in his twigs and stones. “I know perfectly well where we are now. I’m not an idiot! What I want to know is where we are going.”
“Can’t you have patience?” Poor Cecco exclaimed. “All you can put in a map are the places you've already been. That’s what a map’s for. No one ever heard of a map that showed the places people haven’t been yet. There’d be no sense to it.”
“There’s no sense to this,” said Jensina, “so far as I can see! Look where you’ve put the river—just where Bulka’s going to step in it!”
Bulka drew back, alarmed, but seeing only a line on the earth, stepped over it, and wandered off to look for huckleberries. Some one would have to find the way home; it didn’t trouble him.
Poor Cecco folded his legs and lay down sulkily. He thought it was too bad of Jensina to be so critical when he really was trying his best.
Suddenly Jensina sat up and thumped the ground.
“Listen! I have an idea!”
“Well?” said Poor Cecco, still sulky.
“Do you know the name of your house?”
“What do you mean?”’ asked Poor Cecco. “It’s just called the house.”
“Do you know what house it is?” Jensina explained.
