Hand in hand we tiptoed through the forest to our trap. There was
something in it that took fright at our approach and rushed
panic-stricken round and round the interior of the trap, uttering its
alarm-note, which sounded like the jangling of a whole string of
bells.

I seized the strangely beautiful creature; it neither attempted to
bite nor scratch, but crouched in my arms, trembling and eying me.

Delighted with the lovely, tame animal, we bore it tenderly back to
the camp and placed it on my blanket. Hand in hand we stood before it,
awed by the sight of this beast, so long believed to be extinct.

"It is too good to be true," sighed Dorothy, clasping her white hands
under her chin and gazing at the dingue in rapture.

"Yes," said I, solemnly, "you and I, my child, are face to face with
the fabled dingue--_Dingus solitarius_! Let us continue to gaze at it,
reverently, prayerfully, humbly--"

Dorothy yawned--probably with excitement.

We were still mutely adoring the dingue when Professor Smawl burst
into the tent at a hand-gallop, bawling hoarsely for her kodak and
note-book.

Dorothy seized her triumphantly by the arm and pointed at the dingue,
which appeared to be frightened to death.

"What!" cried Professor Smawl, scornfully; "_that_ a dingue? Rubbish!"