"Please, miss," said the shaggy man, "can you tell me the road to Butterfield?"Dorothy looked him over. Yes, he was shaggy, all right, but there was a twinkle in his eye that seemed pleasant."Oh yes," she replied; "I can tell you. But it isn't this road at all.""No?""You cross the ten-acre lot, follow the lane to the highway, go north to the five branches, and take--let me see--""To be sure, miss; see as far as Butterfield, if you like," said the shaggy man."You take the branch next the willow stump, I b'lieve; or else the branch by the gopher holes; or else--""Won't any of 'em do, miss?""'Course not, Shaggy Man. You must take the right road to get to Butterfield.""And is that the one by the gopher stump, or--""Dear me!" cried Dorothy. "I shall have to show you the way, you're so stupid. Wait a minute till I run in the house and get my sunbonnet."The shaggy man waited. He had an oat-straw in his mouth, which he chewed slowly as if it tasted good; but it didn't. There was an apple-tree beside the house, and some apples had fallen to the ground. The shaggy man thought they would taste better than the oat-straw, so he walked over to get some. A little black dog with bright brown eyes dashed out of the farm-house and ran madly toward the shaggy man, who had already picked up three apples and put them in one of the big wide pockets of his shaggy coat.
