Stuart Little

"Well, if you ever run across a bird named Margalo," said Stuart, "I'd appreciate it if you
would drop me a line. Here's my card."

"Describe the bird," said the repairman, taking out pad and pencil.
"Brown," said Stuart. "Brown, with a streak of yellow on her bosom."
"Know where she comes from?" asked the man.
"She comes from fields once tall with wheat, from pastures deep in fern and thistle; she
comes from vales of meadowsweet, and she loves to whistle."
The repairman wrote it all down
briefly. "Fields--wheat--pastures, fern and thistle. Vales, meadowsweet. Enjoys whistling."
Then he put the pad back in his pocket, and tucked Stuart's card away in his wallet. "I'll keep my
eyes open," he promised.
Stuart thanked him. They sat for a while in silence. Then the man spoke.
"Which direction are you headed?" he asked.
"North," said Stuart.
"North is nice," said the repairman.
"I've always enjoyed going north. Of course, south-west is a fine direction, too."
"Yes, I suppose it is," said Stuart, thoughtfully.
"And there's east," continued the repairman.
"I once had an interesting experience on an easterly course. Do you want me to tell you
about it?"
"No, thanks," said Stuart.
The repairman seemed disappointed, but he kept right on talking. "There's something about
north," he said, "something that sets it apart from all other directions. A person who is heading
north is not making any mistake, in my opinion."
"That's the way I look at it," said Stuart.
"I rather expect that from now on I shall be traveling north until the end of my days."
"Worse things than that could happen to a person," said the repairman.
"Yes, I know," answered Stuart.
"Following a broken telephone line north, I have come upon some wonderful places,"
continued the repairman. "Swamps where cedars grow and turtles wait on logs but not for
anything in particular; fields bordered by crooked fences broken by years of standing still;
orchards so old they have forgotten where the farmhouse is. In the north I have eaten my lunch in
pastures rank with ferns and junipers, all under fair skies with a wind blowing. My business has
taken me into spruce woods on winter nights where the snow lay deep and soft, a perfect place
for a carnival of rabbits. I have sat at peace on the freight platforms of railroad junctions in the
north, in the warm hours andwiththe warm smells. I know fresh lakes in the north, undisturbed
except by fish and hawk and, of course, by the Telephone Company, which has to follow its

nose. I know all these places well. They are a long way from here--don't forget that. And a
person who is looking for something doesn't travel very fast."

"That's perfectly true," said Stuart.
"Well, I guess I'd better be going.
Thank you for your friendly remarks."
"Not at all," said the repairman. "I hope you find that bird."
Stuart rose from the ditch, climbed into his car, and started up the road that led toward the
north.
The sun was just coming up over the hills on his right.
As he peered ahead into the great land that stretched before him, the way seemed long. But
the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction.
THE END