For the first mile he felt so lonely that half a dozen times he nearly turned back. It was so long since he had travelled all by himself. The happy bustle of the farmhouse, inside and out, had become so much a part of his new life that he did not realize how much he would miss it.
"But I shall soon be back again," Gobbolino comforted himself. "I don’t know what I can do to help my sister, but once I see her I shall find out, and then I shall come home."
He set his face towards the Hurricane Mountains, because that was the only place he knew where his sister Sootica might be, and thinking, as he did, that every hour was bringing them closer together he began to feel much more cheerful, and even to purr a little as he trotted along.
"For I am such a lucky cat!" his heart sang. "I have a home to come back to, and kind friends to welcome me on my return. The children will be a little sad waiting for me and wondering when I am coming home, but when I do return they will be very happy, and everything will be as it was before."
The mountains were a great way off, and although Gobbolino walked all day they did not seem to come any nearer. He drank at a stream, but had had nothing to eat since leaving the farm, and his paws were so sore he could hardly stand up on them. Every now and again he stopped to give each of them a good lick, and to clean out the dust and grit from between his pads. This refreshed him a little, but he thought very anxiously about the next day and the next, and the terribly long distance he would have to walk before he reached the far-off Hurricane Mountains.
At last the road ran into a forest, and here the going was easier, because the pine needles made a carpet, quite springy and pleasant to walk upon.
Gobbolino was trotting along quite happily when he came upon a little wooden horse grazing in a small green glade.
They greeted one another very civilly. Gobbolino was delighted to find someone he could talk to for a little while, but he wished he were able to enjoy the berries that the little wooden horse was helping himself to from the bushes round the glade. Gobbolino noticed that he kept removing his head and putting them through the hole into his wooden body.
"Are those berries good to eat?" he asked the little wooden horse.
"Why yes! They are very good indeed!" said the little wooden horse. "But I am not picking them for myself. I am picking them for my mistress, the wife of my dear master, Uncle Peder the toy-maker, who lives close by, and she will turn them into jam, and put them into little pies, and bottle what is left over for the winter."
"Did you say you lived close by?" said Gobbolino eagerly "Do you think your master has a shed where I could spend the night, and maybe catch a mouse or two for my supper? Because I still have a long way to go," he added, "and I have had nothing to eat all day"
"Why! You must come home with me at once!" said the little wooden horse. "My missus will give you something nice to eat and a comfortable bed for the night. Follow me!"
He set out at such a pace on his twinkling wooden legs, with his wooden wheels spinning round like tops, that Gobbolino could only limp after him, losing distance all the way.
When the little wooden horse saw how he was faltering he came cantering back and exclaimed in sympathy:
"Why! You are quite lame! You must have blisters on all four of your feet! Jump on my back, and I will take you to my home!"
Gobbolino was only too grateful to jump on to the wooden back of his kind friend. He saw how strong was the little wooden horse, and how well made.
His stripes were blue and freshly painted. His saddle was red and his spots were black, yet there was nothing brand-new about him. He seemed wise and good and kind, as if he had been around some time in the world, and Gobbolino wondered very much how he came to be in this wood, and what was his story.
But before he could ask him any questions they arrived at a little house in the middle of the forest. It was built with white walls, a green painted door, and there was a pretty dovecot in the garden.
The little wooden horse trotted through the garden gate and deposited Gobbolino at the door, which he then pushed open with his wooden wheels, and led the cat inside.
A rosy-faced old woman was cooking at the kitchen stove, and from her cooking came the most delicious flavoursome smells.
Gobbolino had not intended to go into the house. He meant to find a corner where he could spend the night in the garden. But the little wooden horse was blocking the doorway, and before he could escape the old woman had turned round.
"Well, I never!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Whatever have we got here now? What a handsome cat! What lovely dark fur, and what beautiful blue eyes! Wherever did you find him?"
The little wooden horse was explaining how they had come across each other while picking blackberries in the forest, but at that moment the door behind them gave way to a tall, handsome old man who at once took the little wooden horse’s head in his hands and began to rub it very affectionately.
Before many minutes had passed Gobbolino found himself lapping a saucer of rich yellow milk, while a comfortable cushion awaited his tired feet Kind hands brushed and combed his fur and, while the old woman disposed of the berries the little wooden horse had picked in the glade, Gobbolino fell fast asleep, lulled by the bubbling of the pot and the crackling of the fire.
He slept so soundly that he did not wake up all night. When he opened his eyes it was morning, and there was nobody in the kitchen but himself and the little old woman.
She was just as kind to him as she had been the night before, and, when he went into the garden to find his friend the little wooden horse, she explained to him that the horse had gone off with his master, Uncle Peder, to take some toys to a far-off customer, and they would not be home until nightfall.
Gobbolino was very disappointed, for he wanted to say goodbye and to thank the little wooden horse before he went on his journey, but he knew he ought to leave early if he was to get well on his way to the Hurricane Mountains before dark.
He explained this to the old woman, who looked disappointed in her turn.
"I thought you were coming to live with us!" she said reproachfully. "Why are you in such a hurry to get to the Hurricane Mountains?"
Gobbolino began to tell her his story.
"I have a good home of my own to return to," he explained, "but I have a little sister high up in the mountains, who belongs to a witch. I am afraid she may be in some kind of trouble, because she sent me a message to come and help her, and that is where I am going. I am truly grateful, ma’am, for your hospitality and I so badly wanted to say goodbye to my friend the little wooden horse before I left."
But the old woman was looking at him with horror in her face.
"Your sister is a witch's cat?" she exclaimed. "Then what are you?"
"I am a kitchen cat!" said Gobbolino simply but she turned away and began to make such a clatter with the pots and pans that he felt sure she did not believe him. He crept into a corner of the kitchen and tears of shame filled his beautiful blue eyes. He was afraid that if he left the house now his friend the wooden horse would get into trouble for bringing a witch’s cat into the house. Twice he left the kitchen and trotted out through the garden gate, but twice he came back again. His paws, too, were so sore he realized he would not be able to go far without another day’s rest; so he crept into a little potting shed in the garden and waited until he could tell the whole of his story to the little wooden horse.
Late in the afternoon Uncle Peder and the wooden horse returned. Gobbolino was about to run out and greet them, but he saw the old woman in the doorway, and he did not want to run the risk of being sent away without an explanation.
So he crouched in the shed, and heard his wooden friend inquiring anxiously where the cat was, and whether his paws had healed during the day.