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Title: Little Jack Rabbit's big blue book
Author: David Cory
Release Date: April 17, 2023 [eBook #70574]
Language: English
Produced by: Bob Taylor, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE JACK RABBIT'S BIG BLUE
BOOK ***
Transcriber’s Note
Italic text displayed as: _italic_
LITTLE JACK RABBIT’S
BIG BLUE BOOK
[Illustration:
_If thru the air on radio wing
I’ve made a little child’s heart sing
I count it much as one who hears
The lovely music of the spheres._
_Yours for a Story
David Cory
The Jack Rabbit Man_
]
LITTLE JACK RABBITS
BIG BLUE BOOK
BY DAVID CORY
[Illustration: Rabbit house]
_Home again, home again,
Thru the sunshine or the rain!
Tis the dearest place to stay
After you have played all day_
PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH
FULL PAGE COLORED AND
BLACK & WHITE PICTURES
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS · NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
TO THE GROWN-UPS
Come with me, the little latch
Hangs outside the Bramble Patch.
You will find within this book,
If you will but take a look,
All the happy, care-free ways
Of your golden childhood days.
In the Kingdom of Little Animals every child is at home. That a dog
can talk to his friends, that a rabbit may wear knickers or a little
bird climb up a tiny stair inside a hollow tree trunk seem quite
natural.
Every child is willing to take my hand and step over the border into
Rabbit Country.
Come, you older ones, turn back the clock. Don’t you long for a
moment to be once more in Make-Believe Land? Surely you will if you
read the Little Jack Rabbit Books. You again will see yourself in the
wistful eyes of the youngster at your knee as he listens to
Yours for a story,
DAVID CORY,
The Jack Rabbit Man.
LIST OF BUNNY TALES
TALE PAGE
1. THE WEDDING 1
2. HUNGRY HAWK 11
3. THE LOLLYPOP TREE 21
4. UNCLE LUCKY 30
5. THE RADIO ALARM 42
6. MR. WICKED WOLF 52
7. TIMMIE MEADOWMOUSE 64
8. INVITATIONS 71
9. THE CIRCUS 83
10. THE CIRCUS ELEPHANT 97
11. THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN GOAT 104
12. THE RESCUE 114
13. DANNY FOX 122
14. UNCLE LUCKY’S DREAM 132
15. THE RADIO STORY 142
16. DANGER 149
17. TROUBLE 158
18. OLD HOOTY TOOTY OWL 168
19. LITTLE DEEDS OF KINDNESS 175
20. VALENTINES 184
21. PHOTOGRAPHER CRANE 191
22. “EVERYBODY INN” 198
23. THE RAGGED RABBIT GIANT 213
24. GRANDDADDY BULLFROG 225
25. LUCKYMOBILING 233
26. THE RACE 244
27. THE OLD BROWN HORSE 250
28. THE VISIT 259
29. THE MESSENGER 269
LIST OF PICTURES
UNCLE DAVE CORY _Frontispiece_
PAGE
“IT’S ALMOST TIME FOR THE WEDDING” 6
“HE’S OVER AT THE BARNYARD, TALKING TO OLD SIC’EM” 13
“THAT’S A GOOD LAD,” LAUGHED BIG BROWN BEAR 22
“S.O.S. PLEASE COME QUICK!” 33
“DON’T YOU BOTHER ME, YOU OLD RASCAL” 40
“NOW I’LL GET YOU,” SNARLED DANNY FOX 46
NICE CARROT PORRIDGE 53
“I GAVE HIM A SHOCK OF ELECTRICITY” 62
“HELLO,” EXCLAIMED THE FARMER’S BOY 70
“HEARD THE NEWS?” ASKED THE OLD BROWN HORSE 72
“WELL, I GUESS YES THREE TIMES!” 78
“SOME DAY YOU’LL GROW TO BE A BIG CLOWN” 91
“THE TRAINED BEAR HAD BEGUN TO ROLLER SKATE” 93
THE LITTLE BUNNY HANDING A ROSE TO LADY LOVE 98
JUST THEN DOWN SWOOPED HUNGRY HAWK 102
A TINY LIGHT APPEARED IN THE DISTANCE 111
“WHAT’S THAT?” ASKED LADY LOVE 118
“I WON’T HOP OUT TILL DANNY FOX GOES HOME” 125
“I DON’T WANT TO SPEAK TO HIM” 133
DANNY FOX IN THE PATROL WAGON 137
“THIS IS STATION A.B.C.” 142
“MY, BUT IT’S GROWING COLD!” 149
“THROW UP YOUR PAWS!” SHOUTED DANNY FOX 163
OLD HOOTY TOOTY OWL GRABBED UP THE LITTLE RABBIT 171
THE OLD FEATHERED ROBBER PEEPED DOWN 174
“GOODNESS ME, THIS IS A DULL SAW!” 179
“I MUST GET BACK BEFORE SUPPER” 188
“I’LL SOON BE OUT AT THE OLD BRAMBLE PATCH” 190
“PLEASE DON’T WIGGLE!” 201
“GIVE ME A PEANUT!” 204
“OH, SHE DID, DID SHE?” 216
“FIGHTING IT OUT BETWEEN THEM” 224
“TO BE SURE I WILL,” ANSWERED THE OLD FROG 230
REDDY COMB, THE ROOSTER NEWSBOY 234
“I’LL TELL YOU,” SAID PROFESSOR CROW 240
“YOU’RE A PRETTY GOOD JUMPER YOURSELF” 246
“NOW’S MY CHANCE,” THOUGHT DANNY FOX 253
“LAY YOUR HEAD IN THE BOAT,” CRIED THE BILLY GOAT 257
“ONCE UPON A TIME,” SHE BEGAN 262
THE KNAPSACK BURST OPEN 263
“I FEEL ONLY TWENTY-ONE” 264
“TWICE TO THE LEFT, THREE TO THE RIGHT!” 272
“THANK YOU, MA’AM,” HE SAID 275
“In the Spring,
The blue birds sing
And skies of blue
Smile down on you”
_Sings_—
Little Jack
Rabbit to
himself in the
mirror.
[Illustration: Rabbit looking at a mirror]
IN THE BIG BLUE BOOK
LITTLE JACK RABBIT
WEARS A BLUE NECKTIE.
LITTLE JACK RABBIT’S
BIG BLUE BOOK
BUNNY TALE 1
THE WEDDING
Was some one knocking on the door of Uncle Lucky’s little white house
on the corner of Lettuce Avenue and Carrot St., Rabbitville, U.S.A.?
Well, I guess yes, three times. Maybe somebody has been knocking
ever since Bobbie Redvest told me that a bad attack of rheumatism
prevents the dear old gentleman rabbit from hearing unpleasant news.
Well, anyway, when Uncle Lucky opened the door who do you think was
standing on the mat? You’d never guess, not even if I told you he
wore rubber boots and held a green umbrella in his hand.
It was Daddy Longlegs—yes, sir, that’s who it was.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, “are
you wet?”
“Soaked to the skin,” replied the shivering, rubber-booted,
long-legged insect. “Let me sit by the kitchen stove and warm myself.
Maybe I’ll get dry in an hour or so.”
“Come right in!” cried dear, kind Uncle Lucky, leading the way into
the kitchen where little Miss Mousie, the dear old gentleman rabbit’s
tiny housekeeper, was drying the breakfast dishes.
“O sunny days, so sweet and warm,
I miss you very much.
I only hope the rheumatiz
My little toe won’t touch!”
sang Uncle Lucky, helping Daddy Longlegs pull off his rubber boots.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman insect, stretching out his cold,
damp toes:
“I love the cheerful kitchen fire,
And though it is so kind
To warm my frozen tippy toes,
I’m always cold behind.”
“Turn around once in a while,” replied Uncle Lucky, “that’s what I
do!”
“Don’t set your coat tails on fire,” advised Little Miss Mousie, as
she nibbled a piece of angel cake.
Pretty soon, the Old Red Rooster came in with the _Bunnybridge
Bugle_, the nice morning paper that dear Uncle Lucky loves to read
when breakfast is over.
Taking out a cabbage leaf cigar, he slipped his feet into his
comfortable woolen slippers and, placing his gold-rimmed spectacles
on his nose, sat down in his big arm chair.
Pitter, patter, went the rain
On the misty window pane;
While the fire’s cheerful glow
Warmed his poor rheumatic toe.
By this time Daddy Longlegs was nice and dry, so he, too, sat down to
read by the fire, and Little Miss Mousie, seeing that nobody wished
to talk, scampered back to her little house in the corner of the
sitting room. As for the Old Red Rooster, he hurried out to the barn
to mend the old wheelbarrow.
Pitter, patter, sings the rain
In a drowsy, soft refrain.
Ticker, tacker, on the leaves,
Dripping, dripping, from the eaves.
Tinkle, tinkle, on the pane,
Rings the wind-blown summer rain.
Pretty soon, Uncle Lucky fell asleep and when he woke up, Mr. Merry
Sun was shining and Daddy Longlegs had gone.
“Oh, dear and oh, dear!” sighed dear Uncle Lucky, taking out his gold
watch and chain, “I wonder what time it is.”
Then he sighed again and looked out of the window. But the postman
wasn’t in sight, only the Old Red Rooster raking up the leaves.
“Well, well, well!” sighed lonely Uncle Lucky, for the third time,
“what shall I do?”
“Sing a song,” suggested Little Miss Mousie, peeking out of her small
front door in the far corner of the sitting room.
“Sing us two songs,” shouted the Old Red Rooster through the open
window.
So down at the piano sat kind Uncle Lucky, and, after running his
paws over the keys, commenced:
“When I was young and twenty,
And my hair was curly brown,
I loved a lady bunny,
The sweetest in the town.
One day I bought a ringlet
At the Three-in-One Cent Store,
And then that eve I called on her
And placed it on her paw.
But oh, the years have flown since then,
Way back in ’63,
And only my old wedding hat
Is left to lonely me.”
Then up jumped dear, tender-hearted Uncle Lucky, and wiping the
tears in his left eye, took down his old wedding stovepipe hat and
carefully dusted it off with his blue silk polkadot handkerchief.
All of a sudden the telephone bell began to ring.
“Who’s calling me?” inquired the old gentleman bunny, taking down the
receiver and holding it up to his left ear.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said the next moment. “Well, I don’t want
to talk to you—no, I don’t. You make me cross,” and with that Uncle
Lucky hung up the receiver and hopped back to his big comfortable
armchair.
“Who was it?” asked Little Miss Mousie, running across the floor to
the piano stool, up which she climbed. Then, smoothing her bobbed
hair, she smiled sweetly at the old gentleman bunny.
“Chatterbox, the red squirrel,” answered Uncle Lucky. “He has a funny
story to tell me, but my rheumatism won’t listen to anything, so I
excused myself. Dear me, how my little left hind toe aches. I must be
careful or I’ll be full of crossness.”
“You’ll never be full of anything but kindness,” replied Little Miss
Mousie, arranging the cushions in the big armchair. And she spoke the
truth, don’t you think so, dear little girls and boys?
But poor Uncle Lucky couldn’t fall asleep again, nor could he eat the
nice luncheon which Little Miss Mousie brought in on a silver tray.
By and by, after smoking a cabbage-leaf cigar, he said with a sigh,
“I guess I’ll play a tune; maybe I’ll sing another song,” and
hopping over to the piano, he turned the little stool around three
times and a half, and commenced to sing:
“When she was only sweet sixteen
I loved a little rabbit queen.
Her eyes were pink as any rose,
And even pinker was her nose.
And pinker far her ears inside,
And when she said she’d be my bride,
I bought a lovely wedding ring,
And we were married in the spring.”
“Heigh ho, how the years go!” sighed the old gentleman rabbit
and, taking out his gold watch and chain, he suddenly exclaimed:
“_Goodness gracious meebus! It’s almost time for the wedding!_”
Quickly putting on his old wedding stovepipe hat, he hopped out of
his little house.
You see, his dear bunny niece, pretty Lady Love, had decided to get
married and settle down in the Old Bramble Patch. Perhaps that’s why
Uncle Lucky sang the song about the pretty rabbit queen.
And now I’ll tell you about the wedding. All the Shady Forest folk
were there, of course, and so were the Sunny Meadow people.
[Illustration: “Its almost time for the wedding”]
Old Mrs. Bunny had put her house in apple-pie order, and after the
wedding in the Shady Forest, and Parson Owl had given Lady Love,
the pretty little lady bunny, to Mr. Rabbit to care for all the
rest of his life, everybody started back to the Old Bramble Patch.
Goodness me, it was a long procession! Squirrel Nutcracker, the Big
Brown Bear, Granddaddy Bullfrog, Grandmother Magpie, Busy Beaver,
Sammy Skunk, the Old Brown Horse, Mrs. Grouse, Chippy Chipmunk, the
Stage Coach Dog, the Old Red Rooster, the Yellow Dog Tramp, the
Policeman Dog, Old Barney Owl, the Circus Elephant, the sure-footed
little Mountain Goat, and all the Barnyard Folk. Everybody was
anxious to see the little house that dear Uncle Lucky had built for
Lady Love.
Well, when they all reached the Old Bramble Patch, there stood dear
Uncle Lucky on the front porch, his old wedding stovepipe hat in
his front paw and his big diamond horseshoe pin in his pink cravat.
Yes, sir, there he stood, bowing and smiling just as if it were his
own wedding day and not somebody else’s, as Mr. Rabbit and Lady Love
hopped up the path and into the house to stand under a big horseshoe
wreath of clover and shake hands with all their friends.
Just as everybody had finished looking at the wedding presents, and
dear Uncle Lucky was saying, “Bless you, my children!” Danny Fox
peeped into the window and shouted: “Don’t be frightened! Here’s
a diamond necklace for Lady Love.” Then away he ran, knowing that
nobody wanted him around; for he is a dreadful robber, you know, and
robbers aren’t invited to a wedding. They come later to
Your little Harlem Flat
To steal your high top hat.
At last, when the lollypop juice was all gone, and the grasshopper
orchestra tired of playing, somebody called on Uncle Lucky for a song.
“My dear old wedding hat
I’ve worn for forty year.
I’ve smiled and laughed beneath its brim
And sometimes shed a tear.
But, oh, it hardly seems to me
It was way back in ’63
I wore it on my wedding day,
When I was frisky, young and gay,”
sang the old gentleman rabbit, wiping a tear from his left eye with
his blue silk polkadot handkerchief. Then kissing the bride good-by,
he stopped for a moment to hang up an old horseshoe on the front
porch and then led the guests away, leaving pretty Lady Love and Mr.
Rabbit to fill the little white bungalow with happiness in the years
to come.
By and by a little rabbit boy came to make their dream come true. As
soon as the glad news was telephoned to dear Uncle Lucky, that happy
old gentleman rabbit hopped into his Luckymobile and started off as
fast as a comet for the little white bungalow.
All the way over he honked the horn to bring out all the Shady Forest
Folk from their tree houses and burrows.
“What’s the matter?” asked Squirrel Nutcracker from his Old Tree
Lodge.
“Lady Love has a little boy rabbit!” answered Uncle Lucky.
“What’s all the noise about?” inquired Busy Beaver, swimming up to
the bank of the Shady Forest Pool.
“Lady Love has a little rabbit boy!” answered Uncle Lucky.
“Stop blowing that horn!” snapped Grandmother Magpie from her perch
in the tall pine tree.
“Not for a minute,” shouted back dear Uncle Lucky. “Lady Love has a
little boy rabbit.”
“Are you going crazy?” asked the Big Brown Bear as the Luckymobile
whizzed by the Cozy Cave.
“No, I’m going to see my little grandnephew,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“Lady Love has a baby rabbit.”
“You’ll wake up my babies,” cried Mrs. Bobbie Redvest, as the
Luckymobile rushed past the Apple Orchard.
“Never mind,” shouted back Uncle Lucky. “Tell ’em there’s a new baby
at the Old Bramble Patch. Lady Love has a little boy rabbit.”
“Goodness me, what a noise!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog, as Uncle
Lucky circled the Old Duck Pond. “Has the old gentleman rabbit lost
his wits?”
“Not yet,” answered dear Uncle Lucky. “I’m off for the Old Bramble
Patch to see Lady Love’s little boy rabbit. He just came to-day.”
“Where are you going?” asked Chippy Chipmunk, as Uncle Lucky sped by
the Old Chestnut Tree.
“To see Little Jack Rabbit, Lady Love’s baby,” answered the old
gentleman rabbit.
And so it went. Everybody wanted to know what was the matter, and
when Uncle Lucky finally reached the dear Old Bramble Patch he had
told the glad news to every single solitary person in the Shady
Forest and Sunny Meadow.
BUNNY TALE 2
HUNGRY HAWK
“Hush, little rabbit, go to sleep.
Up in the sky the pretty stars peep;
Down in the meadows the clover tops
Are winking away at the lollypops,”
sang Lady Love, as she rocked the cradle in which lay Little Jack
Rabbit.
Out in the kitchen Old Mrs. Bunny, who had come over for the day, was
baking cabbage cake and Mr. Rabbit was reading in the _Bunnybridge
Bugle_ a story about the new baby rabbit in the Old Bramble Patch.
“Look, mother!” cried the proud rabbit father, turning the paper
toward the good lady bunny.
“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “There’s his picture as sure as I’m
a grandmother and you’re my son.”
Yes, sir! On the front page was a picture of Little Jack Rabbit, and
underneath, in big purple letters:
“A new arrival at the Old Bramble Patch. Lady Love has a baby boy
bunny. Carrot City, Bunnybridge, Lettucemere and Turnip City papers
please copy.”
“It makes me as proud as a peacock to see it in the paper,” laughed
Mr. Rabbit. “And to think that Little Jack Rabbit will soon be old
enough to hop about the Sunny Meadow and through the Shady Forest.”
Just then in came Timmie Meadowmouse to see the new little bunny boy.
“Little Jack Rabbit is asleep,” explained his careful father. “Why
didn’t you come early this afternoon? You ought to know, Timmie
Meadowmouse, that little bunny babies are asleep by this hour.”
“What time is it?” asked the little Meadowmouse “I left my watch
home.”
“It’s six o’clock and Merry Sun
Is hiding behind a tree;
It won’t be long before he will glide
Into the western sea,”
answered the cuckoo from her little clock house.
“There! It’s six o’clock. You’d better look out for Hungry Hawk. You
should be home by this time,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit.
“Can’t I have a peep at your little bunny?” asked the tiny
meadowmouse, holding his cap in his left paw as he turned the brass
doorknob. “I want to tell the Sunny Meadow People I’ve seen him.”
“Come along, then, on your tiptoes,” answered Mr. Rabbit, leading
the little meadowmouse to the bedroom where the bunny baby lay sound
asleep.
“S-s-s-s-h!” whispered Lady Love from the rocking chair close by, as
Timmie Meadowmouse stood on his hind legs to peep into the cradle.
“He’ll be running about in a day or two,” chuckled Mr. Rabbit, as he
said good night to Timmie Meadowmouse. “He’ll be out with Uncle Lucky
in no time.”
[Illustration: “He’s over at the barnyard, talking to Old Sic’em.”]
And that’s just what happened a few weeks later when Uncle Lucky,
hopping out of his Luckymobile and into the Old Bramble Patch,
shouted:
“Where’s that grandson of mine?”
“He’s over at the Barnyard, talking to Old Sic’em,” answered Mr.
Rabbit from the front porch.
“Please call him home,” begged anxious Lady Love.
“Have you polished the doorknob clean and bright,
And brought in the kindling wood?
I think I hear the canary bird
Crying for breakfast food,”
she said, as her bunny boy hopped up to the kitchen door.
“Dear, oh, dear!” answered the truthful little rabbit, “I forgot all
about her. But I filled the woodbox and polished the doorknob, Mother
dear.”
“Give me the watering can,” said the kind Old Red Rooster. “You
attend to Little Miss Canary.
She’s a pretty little fellow
In her feather dress of yellow,
And she sings so clear and sweet
From her tiny wooden seat!”
“My, where did you learn to talk in poetry?” asked the bunny boy,
handing over the big green watering pot.
“I’ll tell you some day when I have more time,” replied the Old
Red Rooster. “Now, mind your mother. Hop along and feed the little
birdie!”
Away went the bunny boy, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, to give the
pretty canary her breakfast. After which she stood tiptoe on the edge
of the porcelain drinking cup, tilting back her head to let the drops
of water trickle down her feather-ruffled throat.
“Would you believe it, Little Jack Rabbit is growing so fast we have
to call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store twice a week for a new suit
of clothes? If he keeps on growing like this he’ll be in long pants
before Easter,” explained sweet Lady Love to the old gentleman rabbit.
“Ha, ha!” laughed dear Uncle Lucky. “I remember you grew mighty fast.
It seemed I had hardly given you a lollypop rattle when it came time
to give you a cherry-stone necklace.”
Just then the Old Red Rooster began to crow:
“Oh, things have changed in the Bramble Patch,
I’ve scarcely a moment’s time to scratch;
With Little Jack Rabbit to teach and learn
I’ve hardly the time my wage to earn.”
“Did you ever!” laughed Old Mrs. Bunny from the kitchen door. “One
would think the Old Red Rooster was a busy person! He’d rather rest
on his hoe and talk to Little Jack Rabbit than weed the garden. My,
but he’s a lazy fowl!”
“Never mind,” answered Uncle Lucky, hopping around the little white
house. Not far away Little Jack Rabbit and the Old Red Rooster were
feeding the pigeons, who had flown down from their pretty house on
the top of a tall pole.
“Hey, there, young rabbit!” cried Uncle Lucky. “Don’t pull the tail
feathers out of the Old Red Rooster’s swallow tail coat!” You see,
Little Jack Rabbit was making believe the good-natured rooster was a
horse and he was driving him to the station at Bunnybridge.
“Where have you been?” asked the little bunny.
“Oh, I’ve just come in from a drive,” answered Uncle Lucky. “I had
some business to attend to in Carrot City.”
“When are you going to take me for a ride?”
“Wait a little longer till you’re big enough to look out for
yourself,” answered wise old Uncle Lucky. “There’s no telling when
Danny Fox or Old Man Weasel may pop out from behind a tree. You’re
safer here in the Old Bramble Patch for a while yet.”
All of a sudden the Old Red Rooster gave a warning. Quick as a wink
into the Little Red Barn hopped the two bunnies, Uncle Lucky first,
Little Jack Rabbit next and last, but just as fast, the Old Red
Rooster.
Closing the door, they peeped out through a knothole. There in the
back yard stood Hungry Hawk.
“Ha, ha! Ha, ha!” cried Hungry Hawk,
As he flew at the door with a dreadful squawk,
“This Little Red Barn’s a pretty good place
For rabbits to hide from my grinning face.”
And, hopping around the barn, that old robber bird peeked in through
every crack. By and by he came to quite a large knothole. Oh, dear
me, yes! It was big enough for his head, and then it seemed almost
large enough for his body.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed anxious Uncle Lucky, “I’m
afraid that old bird will squeeze in.”
“Wait a minute, hold your breath,
Don’t you sneeze or titter,
I’ll show that dreadful robber bird
That I’m a home run hitter,”
whispered the Old Red Rooster, and the next minute he had crept over
on his tiptoes to the tool closet for the big heavy wooden mallet.
Hungry Hawk didn’t notice the Old Red Rooster. No, siree, ma’am! He
was too busy pushing and shoving, and shoving and pushing. He surely
thought that pretty soon he’d be in the barn, feasting on two nice
rabbits and maybe a fat rooster.
How he did squirm and twist and twist and squirm! Dear me! I hope he
doesn’t get both his wings through the knothole before the Old Red
Rooster can swing the big wooden mallet. Because, if once inside,
Hungry Hawk will put up a dreadful fight and maybe get the best of
the two little rabbits and the Old Red Rooster.
Dear me! again. I wish I could tell the Kind Policeman Dog over the
wireless what is going on in the Little Red Barn. He wouldn’t wait
a minute. No, sireemam! He’d come with his hickory stick and knock
Hungry Hawk’s tail right off before the Old Red Rooster had time to
swing the big wooden mallet.
But there’s no use wishing for things. Just get out and get them!
That’s the way. So, here we go! Old Red Rooster, hurry up! And that’s
just what he did.
WHACK! Down came the wooden mallet on Hungry Hawk’s head. Whew! How
mad he was!
WHACK! Again the Old Red Rooster tickled the wicked hawk’s head.
“Give him another!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hiding Little Jack Rabbit
behind his coat tails. “Hit him again, and three times more!”
Now, let me see. What did Hungry Hawk do after Uncle Lucky shouted to
the Old Red Rooster; “Hit him again!” Well, what would you think he’d
do? First, he hid his head under his wing; then he tried to squeeze
back through the knothole. But he couldn’t, for his feathers turned
up at the end and made him bigger than ever.
“I don’t want to break your head,” said the Old Red Rooster. “This
wooden mallet is pretty hard. But if you think you’re going to eat
Uncle Lucky or Little Jack Rabbit or yours truly, you’ve made a
mistake.”
“You bet you have!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “You better go home to
Mrs. Hawk and lead a better life hereafter.”
“Dear me! I wish I could,” answered Hungry Hawk, “I’ve got an awful
headache. The Old Red Rooster hit me three times with the wooden
mallet.”
Just then who should hop into the barn but the Policeman Dog. I
wonder how he found out what was going on?
“You wicked bird! I’ve a good notion to shoot you,” he shouted,
pulling his gun from his hip pocket.
“Don’t shoot!” begged Hungry Hawk, his tail feathers twitching and
his eyes blinking with fright. My, but he was scared. For that
Policeman Dog’s gun was a warlike looking weapon, let me tell you.
The handle was red and the barrel black and the bullet as yellow as a
dandelion.
“I’ll take three minutes to think about it,” answered the Policeman
Dog. “But what are you going to do? You can’t get out and you can’t
get in, I guess you wish you were thin as a pin.”
Just think of a Policeman Dog making up poetry at a dangerous time
like this. Well, I never.
“I’m worried enough to grow thin,” answered Hungry Hawk. “Besides,
I’m dreadfully uncomfortable.”
“I’ve got an idea,” suddenly exclaimed wise Uncle Lucky, “I’ll knock
out the board. Maybe it will split in two and free the old bird.”
“Please be careful,” begged Hungry Hawk, as the old gentleman rabbit
lifted the heavy wooden mallet, “please don’t make a mistake and hit
me.”
“One, two, three!” sang out Uncle Lucky, and down came the mallet,
whack! against the board. The next minute Hungry Hawk found himself
by the woodpile. But, dear me! The board hadn’t cracked open. No, the
nails had just pulled out of the Big Red Barn.
All of a sudden the old hawk gave a tre-men-dous squirm and away he
flew, with a whirr of wings, above the Sunny Meadow.
“I guess he won’t bother little rabbits for some time,” cried Uncle
Lucky. But, children dear, I’m sorry to say, a little further on in
the book he does something dreadful.
Oh, hawks are very crafty things,
They fly about on silent wings,
And if, perchance, a little rabbit
Is heedless of a watchful habit,
He’ll find too late some sunny morning
He should have followed mother’s warning.
BUNNY TALE 3
THE LOLLYPOP TREE
“I must run up to see the Big Brown Bear,” thought Little Jack
Rabbit, looking up at Mr. Merry Sun shining in the Blue Sky Country.
“I want you to hop down to the Three-in-One-Cent Store for a
clothes-pin,” said Lady Love, his pretty bunny mother.
“All right, mother dear,” answered the little rabbit, tucking the
napkin under his chin and helping himself to a big slice of carrot
cake.
My, what a nice breakfast his bunny mother had made for him—carrot
cakes with lollypop syrup, turnip tea and lettuce marmalade.
As soon as the little rabbit had brought in the kindling wood, fed
the canary and polished the front door knob, he kissed his pretty
bunny mother good-by and hopped down the winding path through the
brambles to the Sunny Meadow.
Peeking out of his little front door stood Timmie Meadowmouse.
“Hello!” said Little Jack Rabbit, stopping before the tiny, round
grass-ball house, hung on three stiff stalks of grass about six
inches above the ground, “Where do you think I’m going?”
“Well, wherever you’re going,” answered the timid meadowmouse,
peering anxiously out of the small round hole that serves for his
front door, “you’d better look out for Danny Fox.”
“Oh, I will,” replied Little Jack Rabbit. “And I’ll bring you a
lollypop, ’cause I’m going up to see the Big Brown Bear and the
Lollypop Tree. Good-by,” and away hopped the little bunny, clipperty
clip, lipperty lip, up the Old Cow Path in the Sunny Meadow and over
the hill top until, by and by, not so very long, he came to the Shady
Forest, where he paused for a moment to inquire how Mrs. Nutcracker
was getting along.
“Very nicely, thank you,” replied old Squirrel Nutcracker, dropping a
handful of nuts in the little rabbit’s pocket. “She’ll soon be around
again.”
“I’m glad of that,” answered the kind-hearted little bunny boy,
“mother sends her love,” and off he hopped up the Shady Forest Trail.
As he passed the pool in which Busy Beaver has his home, he stopped
to say “Hello.”
“Hello, yourself!” shouted back the little beaver. “How are all the
folks?”
“Pretty well, except dear Uncle Lucky Lefthindfoot,” answered the
little bunny rabbit boy. “He has the rheumatism in his left hind toe
and Dr. Quack says it will be some time before he can do a toe dance.”
[Illustration: B.B.BEAR
“That’s a good lad” laughed Big Brown Bear.]
“Shouldn’t wonder,” laughed the happy little beaver, giving his
big broad tail a sudden flap, sending the spray all over the little
rabbit boy bunny’s fur coat, “but why should Uncle Lucky want to do a
toe dance, anyway?”
“I don’t know,” replied the little rabbit, wiping the water drops off
his coat sleeve. “You’ve splashed me all over, Busy Beaver, yes, you
have,” and away went the little rabbit, for it was nearly a mile and
a whistle and a smile to Cozy Cave where the Big Brown Bear sold
Ice cream cones and lollypops,
Licorice sticks and Sweet Corn Pops,
Peppermints and ’Lasses Drops.
Dear me! Doesn’t that sound delicious? If only I had the time I’d
leave my typewriter to run over to the Big Brown Bear. Would you come
with me, little reader? I guess you would, and so would your little
brother Jimmy.
Well, now where was I before I began to dream? I was on my way to
Cozy Cave for a gum drop? Oh, yes, Little Jack Rabbit had stopped
before I had even started, so I’ll tell you without digressing
further, which means to go off sideways—what the little bunny did.
“Where you going?” asked Chippy Chipmunk, running along the top of
the Old Rail Fence, his red striped jacket shining in the morning sun
and his eyes twinkling with curiosity.
“To the cozy cave of the Big Brown Bear,
And the Lollypop Tree just over there.”
“Bring me a lollypop,” shouted Chippy Chipmunk as the little rabbit
boy hopped up the Shady Forest Trail, in and out among the trees,
where Billy Breeze whistled amid the leaves.
By and by, way, way yonder, he could just make out the comfortable
figure of the Big Brown Bear sitting in front of his cozy cave,
smoking a corncob pipe.
“Hello! hello!” shouted the little rabbit, waving his red-striped
candy cane. “Are you there, Mr. Bear?”
“No, I’m here,” chuckled the big good-natured, furry-coated animal,
“but just keep on, you’ll find me all right.”
“How’s mother?” he asked, taking the old corncob pipe from between
his beautiful white pearly teeth, as the breathless little rabbit
stood before him.
“She’s well, thank you,” panted the little bunny boy, looking up
at the lollypops as they winked their purple-pinky eyes from the
branches of the Lollypop Tree.
“Did you do your three chores for mother this morning?” enquired the
Big Brown Bear, although the little bunny boy wished to goodness
gracious he would stop asking questions and give him a lollypop.
“Oh, yes, oh, yes!” answered the wistful-eyed little rabbit.
“You polished the front door knob, fed the canary and brought in the
kindling wood?” continued the questioning old bear.
“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” repeated the little bunny boy rabbit, only this
time he shouted it.
“That’s a good lad,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, handing a pink
lollypop to his little long-eared caller. “Have a lollypop!”
And then, would you believe it, that big bear put away his pipe and
began to suck a green lollypop. Just fancy that if you can! Pretty
soon he said with a smile, “Want another?”
“Have you any left?” asked the bunny boy, oh, so wist-ful-ly.
“Well, I’ll see,” answered the Big Brown Bear, rising to his feet
and ambling into the cozy cave. But, oh, dear me! the only things he
found were a popcorn ball and an empty ice cream cone.
“Goodness gracious!” he exclaimed, coming out again into the
sunlight, “I guess I’ll have to climb the Lollypop Tree.”
It didn’t take him long to swing himself up, and as he climbed higher
and higher, the little rabbit watched him anxiously. Pretty soon the
Big Brown Bear reached the branches where the lollypops grow in a
rainbow row.
“Do you want that nice pink one?” he asked, looking down into the
little rabbit’s upturned face.
“Oh, yes!” shouted the bunny boy. “And that green one, too, and that
one all blue, and maybe a purple one for you.”
Carefully picking off the lollypops, the big kind animal shoved them
into his coat pocket. Then sliding down the tree, he walked over and
sat down on the big wooden bench.
“Come, hop up beside me. We’ll sing the lollypop song!” and moving
over to one side to make room for the little rabbit he held up the
purple lollypop. Then the little bunny held up the pink lollypop,
and, both together, all at once, just at the same time, they shouted:
“Hip, Hip, Hurray,
I lick a lollypop every day.”
Pretty soon the lollypops were licked all to pieces—nothing was left
but the two little sticks.
“Well, well,” chuckled the Big Brown Bear, taking out of his pocket
the green and blue lollypops. Then he and his little bunny friend
held them up in the same way, singing all over again the lovely
lollypop song, and when only the little sticks remained, the Big
Brown Bear asked with a smile:
“What shall we do now?”
“Let’s have one more lollypop and one more song,” answered the little
rabbit.
“Dear, dear, dearest me! I must climb up the Lollypop Tree!” sighed
the Big Brown Bear. But he was so kind and he was so good that up he
went, until at last he came to the row where the beautiful, luscious
lollypops grow.
“Do you want that yellow one?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I do, and that red one, too,” shouted the little rabbit,
“and that orange one will be good for you.”
Picking them off the branches with his furry paw, the Big Brown Bear
slipped them in his pocket and, scrambling down to the ground,
walked over to the big wooden bench. The little rabbit followed close
at his heels and, jumping up beside him, peeked into the good-natured
animal’s pocket.
“My, what a hungry little bunny,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, pulling
out the lollypops. Then, holding up the orange colored one in his
right paw, he waited for the little bunny boy.
“Hip, Hip, Hurray,
I lick a lollypop every day,”
they shouted all over again; and not until the lollypops were all
gone did the little rabbit suddenly remember the errand for his
mother.
“Dear, oh, dear! I almost forgot that mother wants a clothes-pin from
the Three-in-One Cent Store. Good-by, Mr. Big Brown Bear,” and away
hopped the little rabbit down the winding trail, in and out among the
trees, until at last he hopped across Busy Beaver’s dam that held
back the water in the Bubbling Brook.
“What’s your hurry?” asked the beaver.
“Don’t stop me!” replied the little bunny boy. “Mother asked me to
get a clothes-pin,” and, hitching up his little knapsack, he swung
his little striped candy cane around three times and a half and
hopped merrily up the Old Cow Path toward the farmyard.
“Hello!” cackled Henny Jenny, as he peeked in through the fence.
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” crowed Cocky Doodle.
“I’m pretty well,” answered the bunny boy rabbit, “but don’t stop me!
I must get a clothes-pin for mother at the Three-in-One Cent Store.”
But, dear me! Just then Ducky Waddles shuffled around the big
haystack and Turkey Tim strutted across the yard. Of course they,
too, shouted “Hello!” and the next minute the Weathercock on the big
Red Barn spun around on his gilded toe and asked the little rabbit
the time.
“Dear me!” thought the little bunny, taking out the big gold watch
which Uncle Lucky had given him for a birthday present, “I’m afraid
to look—I’ve wasted so much time this morning.” And then, oh, how I
hate to tell it, something dreadful happened.
All of a sudden,
Just like that,
Out of the house
Came the farmer’s cat.
“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, backing away toward the old
apple tree, “Black Cat will surely scratch all the little buttons off
my fur overcoat.”
“Meow! Meow!” cried Black Cat, creeping forward, his wicked green
eyes blazing like balls of fire and his sharp claws sticking out of
his fur-mittens.
And the poor little rabbit, his back against the old apple tree,
stood all a-tremble, not knowing what to do.
“Go way, go way!” he cried. But closer and closer crept the wicked
cat in his long black coat.
All of a sudden a little voice from a treetop whispered:
“Don’t you remember how your mother taught you to defend yourself?”
Then, of course, the little rabbit boy remembered the only way a
bunny can protect himself. Turning around as quick as a flash, he
struck out with his two strong hind legs, hitting Black Cat such
a welt in the belt that all the breath was knocked out of him. It
took the old cat five minutes to find it. And while he hunted here
and there, under a stone and behind a bush, away hopped the little
rabbit, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, down the road to Rabbitville.
“Don’t forget next time to remember what mother tells you,” called
little Bobbie Redvest from the apple tree.
“Oh, I won’t, I won’t!” shouted the little bunny boy over his
shoulder, “I’m trying now to remember the clothes-pin!” and away he
hopped faster than ever to the Three-in-One Cent Store.
BUNNY TALE 4
UNCLE LUCKY
Goodness me! boys and girls, I think I forgot to mention that just
back of Uncle Lucky’s little white house stood a tiny garage in
which he kept his Luckymobile, the fastest car in all Rabbitville.
Sometimes it went so fast that the hind wheels couldn’t keep up with
the front wheels. Then, of course, the old gentleman rabbit had to
honk the horn and put on the brakes to avoid a dreadful accident.
One morning dear Uncle Lucky hopped into the kitchen where Little
Miss Mousie was setting the breakfast table while the turnip tea was
singing on the stove.
As soon as the meal was over the old gentleman rabbit slipped his
big diamond horseshoe pin into his purple cravat and buttoned up his
pink waistcoat. Then tying his blue silk polkadot handkerchief over
the top of his old wedding stovepipe hat and under his chin to keep
Billy Breeze from blowing it off, he shouted, “Good-by, Little Miss
Mousie!” and hopped out to the garage, where the old Red Rooster was
cleaning the Luckymobile cushions with his feather duster tail.
“Ha, ha!” laughed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping into the Luckymobile,
“I’m going to take Little Jack Rabbit out for a ride.” And, giving
the horn a honk or two, he whizzed through the little gate in the
white picket fence. At Cabbage Street he turned off Lettuce Avenue
and into the Shady Forest. By and by, after a while, he reached the
dear Old Bramble Patch.
“I’ll be out in just a minute!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit in answer
to the three honks of the Luckymobile horn. “I’ve almost finished
polishing the front door knob.”
“Don’t hurry!” replied the old gentleman rabbit, hopping around to
the kitchen where Lady Love, the little rabbit’s mother, was wiping
the dishes.
“Here comes Uncle Lucky!” chirped the little Black Cricket from the
woodbox by the kitchen stove.
“Here comes Uncle Lucky!” sang the Three Little Grasshoppers, while
the pretty Canary from her gold cage twittered a song of welcome and
the Hollyhocks nodded their heads as the old gentleman rabbit hopped
up on the little back porch.
Lady Love pushed forward the big rocking chair and when the old
gentleman bunny was comfortably seated, handed him a cup of turnip
tea.
“Ah, me!” he sighed, though smiling at Lady Love:
“When I was young and frisky
Way back in ’63,
A pretty little bunny girl
Gave me a cup of tea,”
and taking a blue silk polkadot handkerchief out of his coat-tail
pocket, dear kind Uncle Lucky wiped a tear from his left eye.
Pretty soon when Little Jack Rabbit had finished polishing the front
door knob, he and Uncle Lucky hopped out to the Luckymobile and
drove away across the Sunny Meadow, up the Old Cow Path and over the
hill-top, to the Shady Forest.
Everything was going along so nicely and Billy Breeze was whistling
such a merry tune in the treetops when, all of a sudden, just like
that, quick as the bills on the first of the month, something
happened. Isn’t it too bad that unpleasant things always happen when
these two dear little rabbits are enjoying themselves?
Before Uncle Lucky could stop the Luckymobile it ran straight into a
big log that lay across the Shady Forest Path, and out went the two
little bunnies. No sooner had they picked themselves up than whom
should they see peeping around a tree, but Mr. Wicked Wolf.
“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” whispered Little Jack Rabbit, “let’s turn back.”
But, goodness gracious me! who was standing not far behind them, but
Danny Fox!
“Worse and worse,” sighed poor dear Uncle Lucky, hopping off sideways
when, all of a sudden, Old Man Weasel crept from behind a stone.
“What shall we do?” cried the poor little rabbit, all a-tremble with
fright. “Won’t somebody come to help us?”
“Hurry up, little rabbit,
Quickly jump
Into that friendly old
Hollow Stump,”
whispered a little voice from the treetop. And, wasn’t it lucky? it
was the Old Hollow Stump Telephone Booth.
[Illustration: “S.O.S. Please come quick!”]
“S.O.S. Please come quick,
Policeman Dog, with your hickory stick!”
shouted the bunny boy.
Then brave Uncle Lucky held the door tight shut with his strong hind
legs while the little rabbit peeped out through a knothole.
“Is he coming? Is he coming?” asked the anxious old gentleman rabbit,
still holding the door tightly closed with his strong hind legs.
“Maybe I can see him with my left eye,” answered the little rabbit,
again squinting through the knothole. “Here he comes! Here he comes!”
Sure enough, the big kind Policeman Dog in his long blue coat with
its big silver star was running swiftly across the Sunny Meadow.
“Here, I am!” he shouted, waving his hickory stick and blowing his
big shrill whistle.
No sooner did Danny Fox hear that whistle than he ran through the
Shady Forest.
No sooner did Mr. Wicked Wolf see the big kind Policeman Dog than he,
too, turned and fled.
As for Old Man Weasel, he crawled under the bed on reaching home and
never dared to come out for a week and a day.
“Everything is safe now!” shouted the big kind Policeman Dog, tapping
the little door of the old Hollow Stump Telephone Booth with his big
hickory stick. So out hopped the two little rabbits.
“Here, take this!” cried dear generous Uncle Lucky, pulling out of
his wallet a ten dollar lettuce leaf bill for the brave Policeman
Dog. “Buy the Missus a new calico apron and the little bow-wow some
candy.”
“Thank you,” said the good Policeman Dog, saluting the old gentleman
rabbit with his right paw, and away he ran to the Police Station in
Rabbitville.
“I guess we’d better go home,” said the old gentleman rabbit. “We’ve
had enough trouble for to-day,” and before long he drove through the
gate in the white picket fence and around to the garage in the rear
of his little white house on the corner of Lettuce Avenue and Carrot
Street, Rabbitville.
There stood the Old Red Rooster, polishing his spurs with Uncle
Lucky’s shoe brush.
“Are you going to a wedding?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, winking
at Mrs. Swallow, who was peeping out of her mud house under the eaves.
“No, to a fight!” answered the Old Red Rooster.
“Maybe I’d better bring in some cabbage leaves,” said the old
gentleman rabbit, hopping down the little path under the grape arbor
and around the Old Well to the garden. “Miss Mousie can make us a
nice salad for lunch.” And while his little mouse housekeeper was
setting the table, he and Little Jack Rabbit hopped out on the front
porch where, just under the roof, pretty Mrs. Sparrow had a nest
crowded with little birdies.
Sitting down in the hammock, the old gentleman rabbit swung back and
forth, while his little bunny nephew looked in the croquet box to see
if Hungry Hawk had stolen one of the nice wooden balls.
Pretty soon, when the old gentleman rabbit had fallen asleep, Mrs.
Sparrow whispered in the little bunny’s ear,
“I never, never pay a cent,
My little house is free of rent,”
and she went on to explain how dear generous Uncle Lucky allowed her
to use his front porch free of charge all through the year.
By and by Little Miss Mousie came to the front door to say that
luncheon was ready.
“Dearest me!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “did I fall asleep?” and jumping
out of the hammock, he winked at little Mrs. Sparrow. Then calling to
Little Jack Rabbit, he hopped through the front hall, where the Old
Grandfather Clock went tick, tickie, tock all the day long.
“Oh, all the day long
Old Grandfather Clock
Went tickie, tick, tickie,
Tick, tickie, tock.
But Little Miss Mousie,
She wasn’t afraid,
As she polished the window
And pulled down the shade.
She loved the Old Grandfather
Tick, tockey Clock,
Why, she sang to herself
As it went tickie, tock!
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit,
hanging his old wedding stovepipe hat on the hat-stand, “I’m as
hungry as three bears!”
“So am I,” laughed the little rabbit, “I could eat a bag of animal
crackers!”
“Dearest me! Somebody’s knocking,” exclaimed the old gentleman
rabbit, as Little Miss Mousie brought in the lollypop stew. “I wonder
if it’s Old Man Trouble?”
“No, it isn’t,” answered Little Miss Mousie, peeking through the
keyhole. “It’s Granddaddy Bullfrog.”
“Ask him in! Don’t keep him waiting!” shouted dear hospitable Uncle
Lucky.
“You’re just in time for lunch,” he added, as the old gentleman frog
hopped into the kitchen.
Pushing up a chair, Little Miss Mousie made an extra place for him
at the neat little table. But, oh, dear me! she forgot to give him a
napkin, and because the old gentleman frog was too polite to ask for
one while eating a raspberry tart, one of the raspberries rolled down
his white waistcoat!
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky, suddenly
seeing the big red stain, “were you signing checks with red ink this
morning?”
But before the embarrassed old frog could answer kind Little Miss
Mousie washed off the spot with a gasolene cloth.
After the meal was over Uncle Lucky and Granddaddy Bullfrog hopped
out on the front porch to play pinochle and the little rabbit went
out to talk to the Old Red Rooster, who was still polishing his spurs
in the Old Red Barn.
By and by the little bunny grew restless and, thinking he had better
be going, he hopped around to the kitchen to say good-by to Little
Miss Mousie. After she had filled his pockets with sweet cookies, he
stopped a moment at the front porch, but Uncle Lucky and Granddaddy
Bullfrog were so busy with their game that they never noticed him.
“I’ll say good-by for you,” twittered little Mrs. Sparrow, knowing
that the little bunny didn’t want dear Uncle Lucky to wonder what had
become of him.
“Here comes a little rabbit bunny,
His knapsack full of ready money
Lettuce bills and carrot cents,
And maybe a million turnip pence,”
sang Bobbie Redvest from the Old Rail Fence.
“Not quite so many,” answered the little rabbit, “but maybe some day
I’ll have enough to buy mother a jade necklace.”
“Look out! Look out for Danny Fox!
He’s sneaking round in his tiptoe socks!
If he should see you first, look out!
You won’t have time to even shout!”
whispered Billy Breeze to all the little people of the Shady Forest
and the Sunny Meadow. He didn’t exactly whisper it, you know. He did
it in a better way, a way by which no one heard a word. He carried
the smell of the wicked old fox to the nose of every little animal.
Yes, sir, that’s how Billy Breeze whispers bad news!
“I’m glad I’m safe at home,” thought the little bunny, as he opened
the little gate in the white picket fence around the dear Old Bramble
Patch.
“Dear, oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Grouse, hiding her brood under her
wings amid the brown underbrush.
“Goodness gracious!” cackled little Henny Jenny, “I’m glad Old
Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, is around. I hope the Farmer’s Boy won’t
whistle to him.”
“Heigh, ho!” yawned Mrs. Cow, with a shake of her head, making the
little bell on her collar ting-a-ling. “So old Danny Fox is out
hunting!”
Then the motherly lady cow walked over to rub her nose against the
silky ear of her long-legged little calf. “But you needn’t be afraid
of that old robber. He eats only little defenseless bunnies and
chickens. He’s no real hunter. Oh, my, no! He’s only a sneak thief.”
“What’s that you’re saying about me?” asked a voice, all of a sudden,
quick as a lightning bug or a tornado.
There stood Danny Fox himself, close by the Old Rail Fence.
“Moo-oo! Moo-oo!” answered Mrs. Cow, lowering her head till her horns
pointed right at his head.
“S-s-s-h!” whispered the sly old robber, “maybe the farmer will think
you’re calling him!”
[Illustration: “Don’t you bother me, you old rascal.”]
“I don’t care if he does,” answered Mrs. Cow, giving her head a toss,
but quickly lowering it to bring the tips of her horns on a level
with Danny Fox’s eyes. “Don’t you bother me, you old rascal.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Danny Fox, carefully peering here and there,
however, for fear some one might be coming by, “I’m not afraid of
you. Besides, you have a thimble on each of your horns.”
They weren’t real thimbles, you know, but the little brass caps
which the Farmer had fastened on. Danny Fox thought they were
thimbles because Mrs. Fox used a thimble when she mended Bushytail’s
coat or Slyboot’s trousers.
“I don’t care what you say, you old robber,” answered Mrs. Cow with
a loud moo-oo! walking up to the fence as brave as a fireman or a
policeman. “Get out, or I’ll toss you over the Bubbling Brook, or
maybe farther!”
“Now, don’t get disagreeable,” whined the old fox, “I’m going along.
Maybe I’ll find a nice little rabbit for supper.”
But he won’t catch Little Jack Rabbit. No, indeed! That dear little
bunny boy is safe in the Old Bramble Patch.
BUNNY TALE 5
THE RADIO ALARM
“Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Love, the little rabbit’s pretty mother,
“where is my bunny boy?” and the worried lady rabbit hopped out of
the kitchen of the tiny white bungalow down to the edge of the Sunny
Meadow. Shading her eyes with her paw, she looked up the old Cow Path
to the Big Red Barn, but no little bunny boy could she see there or
anywhere.
“Dear me!” she sighed again, “what has become of him. I hope Danny
Fox isn’t chasing him in the Shady Forest.”
For some time she stood at the edge of the Old Bramble Patch, looking
across the meadow, but at last she turned and hopped up the little
path through the brambles to the tiny garden in the rear of her
pretty white bungalow.
“I’ll pick some carrots and lettuce,” she said to herself. Filling
her apron, she had hardly turned to hop into her neat little kitchen
when, all of a sudden, just like that, quick as the wind that blows
off your hat, over the Old Rail Fence jumped Danny Fox.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she cried.
“My dear, my dear!” laughed Danny Fox, creeping toward her, “how
sweet and tender you look!”
Poor little Lady Love dropped the carrots and lettuce and hopped
toward the barn, but Wicked Danny Fox was too quick for her. Then she
tried to hop over to the woodpile, but the nimble old beast again
jumped in front of her.
“You’d better let me put you in my bag,” snarled the cruel beast. “If
you don’t, I’ll bite off your left ear.”
“Please, oh, please, don’t touch me,” cried the frightened little
bunny lady. “Oh, oh, oh.”
Just then a friendly bark sounded near, and the next minute over the
fence came the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“Get out!” he shouted, and, picking up a stick of wood, he hit the
old fox over the head.
“Ouch! ouch!” yelled that old robber, and away he sneaked, leaving
Lady Love and the kind dog to pick up the carrots and lettuce leaves.
“Dear me,” thought the old fox, as he ran into the Shady Forest, “it
grows worse every day. Some one always comes at the wrong time.”
Yes, indeed, this old robber hardly knew what to do. Every time he
started out from his den in the rocky hillside, somebody would call
over the wireless:
“Danny Fox is going hunting!”
After that warning, of course, everybody locked his front door and
bolted his back door and pulled down the window shades.
“My dear,” he said, one dark gloomy night to Mrs. Fox, “maybe I can
bring home a chicken—it’s dark enough to hide me.”
So off he started with a big empty bag over his shoulder. As he
softly crept through the Shady Forest he saw a little twinkling star.
“Now, who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself in a whisper. But, of
course, as he didn’t know, he got no answer.
“I must be careful,” he thought, “it might be the Policeman Dog’s
lantern.”
So the old robber fox hid behind a tree and waited. By and by, after
a while, who should come along but a firefly. My, how her little
lantern flickered and flared in the wind.
“Oh, ho!” said Danny Fox, “who’s afraid? I’m glad it’s not the
Policeman Dog!”
The little firefly kept on her way, for, of course, she hadn’t heard
Danny Fox thinking. As her little light had disappeared in the
darkness the old robber came out of his hiding place.
Then off he started again for the henhouse.
By and by he reached the Old Barnyard. But just as he crept around
the Big Red Barn, Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, looked out of his
wooden house.
“Bow, wow!” he went, tugging at the chain which kept him home nights
in his little bungalow, “wow.”
“Keep quiet, can’t you,” whined Danny Fox.
“Get out!” snarled Old Sic’em. “I’ll call the farmer.”
Just then who should hop by in the moonlight but Little Jack Rabbit
on his way home.
“I guess I’ll catch that little bunny,” thought the old fox, sneaking
around to the Big Red Barn.
“Now where is the old robber going?” the Weathercock asked himself,
as he swung to and fro on his gilded toe.
He needn’t have asked that question, though, for just then he spied
Little Jack Rabbit and a second later, Danny Fox.
“Dear, dear me!” thought the kind Weathercock, “I don’t want that
wicked fox to catch that nice little bunny. What shall I do?”
All of a sudden he remembered the radio. On top of the Big Red Barn
the Farmer’s Boy had fastened a set of wires which led down to his
little room in the loft.
“Hello! hello!” shouted the Weathercock. “Danny Fox is after Little
Jack Rabbit!”
The Farmer’s Boy must have heard him, for out of bed he jumped to
call through the transmitter:
“Danny Fox is after Little Jack Rabbit! Danny Fox is out hunting!”
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the Policeman Dog, as the message rang out in the
Station House and, picking up his club, off he started for the Shady
Forest.
Just then a soft voice whispered from the treetop:
“Danny Fox is close to the heels of Little Jack Rabbit.”
The dear little bunny was hopping down the forest trail happy as
could be. He didn’t know that close behind was crafty Danny Fox. No,
siree! He thought he was safe enough. Why, he never had a thought of
danger.
“I’ll soon be home with Mother,” he said to himself when, all of a
sudden—dear, dear! Will something dreadful happen?
“Now I’ll get you!” snarled Danny Fox.
“No, not yet!” barked the Policeman Dog, swinging his club. Whack!
Down it came on the old fox’s head.
“Now, run!” shouted the Policeman Dog. And maybe Little Jack Rabbit
didn’t go! Why, he went so fast that he left his shadow a mile behind
him!
Then back to the Station House trotted the Policeman Dog, leaving the
sly fox to get home as best he could.
In a few minutes the little bunny was safe in the dear Old Bramble
Patch.
“Mother dear,” he said the next morning, “can’t I have a radio outfit
for my very own?”
“Call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store and find out what it will cost,”
she answered.
It took the little rabbit bunny boy just a minute or three to call up
“Rabbitville, 1, 2, 3.
Hurry up! It’s little me.”
[Illustration: “Now I’ll get you” snarled Danny Fox.]
“Who’s Little Me?” asked a voice. Then, of course the little rabbit
had to explain who he was, whether it looked like rain, and why the
clover tops were not so red as last year. You see, the person in
the Three-in-One-Cent Store was a very curious person, always trying
to find out what was going on in the Shady Forest and the Sunny
Meadow. Maybe he had once been a country boy rabbit before going into
business at Rabbitville, U. S. A.
By and by he figured out what the cost of a radio outfit would be.
“When do you want it installed?” he asked, which means, set up.
“Wait till I ask mother,” answered the little bunny, hopping into
the kitchen where the pretty lady bunny was making carrot cake and
lollypop stew for supper.
“Dear, dear me!” she exclaimed, on learning that it would cost 230
carrot cents. “You’d better call up your Uncle Lucky. He’s rich
enough to put in a dozen. Maybe he’ll order one for you. I wish I had
the money,” and sweet Lady Love picked up her little boy rabbit and
kissed him three times, once on the left cheek, twice on the right
cheek and, last and best, on the mouth. “There now, run along.”
So away he hopped back to the receiver to tell the rabbit clerk at
the Three-in-One-Cent Store that unless Uncle Lucky supplied the
money there’d be no radio at the little white bungalow in the Old
Bramble Patch.
“Too bad, and yet not so worse. Your Uncle Lucky is so fond of you
that he might buy you a little Luckymobile some day, pretty soon,”
answered the clerk.
After saying good-by, Little Jack Rabbit asked Central to give him:
“One, Two, Three,
Ring Happy Bell,
Uncle Lucky in Clover Dell.”
In a moment Uncle Lucky shouted: “Hello, hello! Who’s calling me?”
“Little Jack Rabbit,” answered the bunny boy, quick as a wink. “I
want a radio set, but I haven’t enough money. All the other little
boys are going to get one.”
“I don’t care if the radio set costs a million carrot cents,” shouted
dear Uncle Lucky over the telephone when the bunny salesman at the
Three-in-One-Cent Store suggested that a radio outfit was rather
expensive. “Nothing is too good for my little nephew. Put it in right
away so that he can listen to David Cory’s stories.”
“All right, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot,” respectfully answered the
Three-in-One-Cent Store salesman, hanging up the receiver.
“This afternoon I’ll motor over to the Old Bramble Patch,” said the
old gentleman rabbit to himself, sitting down in his comfortable
armchair to read the _Bunnybridge Bugle_. After luncheon he hopped
out to the garage and, telling the Old Red Rooster to weed the
lettuce patch, set out for Little Jack Rabbit’s bungalow.
“Dear me! He had gone only a little way, not so very far, when
something went wrong with the Luckymobile. Dear me! again. By the
time it was mended, Mr. Happy Sun was nearly ready for bed. At last,
however, dear Uncle Lucky arrived at the Old Bramble Patch, with
his old wedding stovepipe hat and blue silk polkadot handkerchief.
Honking the horn maybe a million times, less or more, he hopped out
and into the little kitchen where Lady Love and her bunny boy were
eating supper.
“Have you got any clover top pie?” asked the old gentleman rabbit,
hanging up his old wedding stovepipe hat.
Of course Lady Love had. She had everything that was good to eat, you
may be sure.
As soon as the supper dishes were cleared away, the three little
rabbits hopped into the sitting room to hear the victrola sing:
“Oh, early in the morning
Before the sun is high,
I love to hunt for cherries
In mother’s apple pie.
And if Old Mother Hubbard
Can’t find her dog a bone,
I’ll take him to the candy store
To get an ice cream cone.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Uncle Lucky, and he told a funny story of a crab
who, by walking backwards into an orchard, made all the trees bear
crab apples, which so provoked the farmer that he boiled the crab and
ate him for supper.
By and by the little cuckoo began to sing from her little clock
house: “Time for bed, time for bed!” At once the three little rabbits
hopped upstairs, first blowing out all the electric lights so that
Hungry Hawk, who is always looking for little mice and rabbits,
wouldn’t be able to see the little white bungalow.
And when everything was quiet a tiny fly asked Little Miss Cricket:
“Is there any cheese in Lady Love’s cupboard?”
But the little cricket wouldn’t tell where Lady Love kept all her
good things and neither would I and neither would the canary bird who
was sound asleep with her head under her wing.
The next morning, bright and early, Uncle Lucky shouted over the
’phone: “Is this the Three-in-One Cent Store? Don’t forget to put in
Little Jack Rabbit’s radio apparatus?”
“We’ll have it installed to-day—don’t worry.”
“Let’s invite all our friends over to-night,” said Uncle Lucky,
turning to Little Jack Rabbit.
In less than five hundred short seconds the two little bunnies were
speeding away. Pretty soon they saw Squirrel Nutcracker on the
doorstep of his Chestnut Tree House.
“Come over to-night and listen in over our new radio,” shouted the
bunny boy.
“I’ll be there, thank you!” replied the old squirrel.
Next, Busy Beaver said he’d come; also Sammy Skunk and the Big Brown
Bear. Then Uncle Lucky stopped at the Old Duck Pond to invite
Granddaddy Bullfrog and Taddy Tadpole.
“What’s all the noise about?” asked pretty Mrs. Oriole from her
stocking-like nest on the Old Willow Tree.
“Come over to my radio party to-night,” answered Little Jack Rabbit,
as he drove over to the Barnyard.
“I’ll come,” crowed Cocky Doodle.
“I’ll be there,” said Goosey Lucy.
“I won’t be a second late,” promised Turkey Tim.
“Yes, we’ll come,
Make no mistake,
And don’t forget
The Angel Cake!”
shouted all the Barnyard Folk.
“Ha! ha!” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, “won’t we have a dandy radio
party?”
BUNNY TALE 6
MR. WICKED WOLF
“Hop out of bed and wash your face
And neatly part your hair
Right down the middle of your back,
Then hurry down the stair,”
sounded the wake-up song of the musical alarm clock.
Out of bed hopped Little Jack Rabbit and in a few minutes he was
ready for breakfast—nice carrot porridge with lettuce cream, turnip
toast and a stewed lollypop. After he had polished the front door
knob, fed the canary and filled with kindling the woodbox behind the
kitchen stove, he kissed Lady Love good-by.
“Do be careful!” cautioned his pretty bunny mother, smoothing the
blue bow at his little white throat. “Do be careful. Danny Fox is
everywhere.”
“Don’t worry,” answered the little rabbit bunny boy, and away he
hopped down the winding path through the brambles. Pretty soon he
came to the Sunny Meadow, through which the Bubbling Brook gurgled
and laughed until it splashed into the Old Duck Pond.
The Sunny Meadow was brown and barren. No lovely flowers smiled at
the little rabbit as he hopped along. A few dry leaves scurried by
as Billy Breeze whistled merrily.
“Where are you going, bunny boy?
Here is a penny to buy a toy,”
all of a sudden shouted Professor Crow from a treetop.
[Illustration: Nice carrot porridge.]
“Oh, thank you!” answered the happy little rabbit, politely. “I’ll go
right down to the Three-in-One Cent Store for a lollypop ice-cream
cone.”
On the way he heard Squirrel Nutcracker scolding Chatterbox, his red
squirrel cousin.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the little rabbit.
“Nothing but trouble,” replied the old gray squirrel. “Chatterbox
tried to steal into my store house.”
“I did not!” answered the little Red Squirrel. “I only peeked in
through a knot hole.”
“Let’s play a game of tag! You’re it!” shouted the bunny boy,
clapping his paw on Chatterbox’s shoulder.
My, what a scamper after that! Over the fallen logs, across the
Bubbling Brook and under the Old Rail Fence raced these three little
people until, all of a sudden, they almost bumped into the Billy Goat
Stage Coach.
“Stop! stop! I want to take a ride,
Pull in your Billy Goat Team,
I’m on my way to Turnip Town
For a lollypop ice cream,”
shouted Little Jack Rabbit.
“Whoa!” cried the Old Dog Driver, pulling in the billy goats right in
front of the little bunny. “Stand still, Butter! Quiet now, Bouncer!”
“All right, I’m in,” called out the little rabbit, looking up through
the open window at the good bow-wow driver.
“Gid-ap!” shouted the Old Dog, clicking his tongue on his long white
teeth, and cracking his whip over the heads of his prancing billy
goats.
Away went the Billy Goat Stage Coach, rattlety bang, over the bumps
and over the stones till it almost crackled the bunny boy’s bones.
Pretty soon the Old Dog Driver shouted:
“Carrot City—Next stop, Turnip Town!”
“Wait, wait!” squeaked an old lady Pig, waving a green umbrella.
“Hurry up!” growled the Old Dog, “I’m five minutes behind time.”
“Where are you going?” asked the breathless lady Pig, as the polite
little rabbit latched the coach door.
“Turnip Town, m’am,” he answered, opening his knapsack to slip in his
little red-striped candy cane.
“Going for a visit?” enquired the inquisitive lady Pig.
“No, m’am,” replied the little rabbit. “Just going for a candy
chocolate mouse.”
“Be careful, the peppermint cat might catch it,” said the lady Pig
with a squeaky chuckle.
“Dear me!” sighed the little bunny, “is she as fierce as the farmer’s
black cat?”
“Not quite,” answered the talkative lady Pig.
Just then the coach stopped and in hopped Daddy Longlegs. He wore a
long linen duster and carried a cotton umbrella on his arm.
“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed, “if my dear little friend isn’t on
board.” And, sitting down by the little bunny, he enquired all about
the folks at home.
“Mother’s well,” answered the little rabbit. “She always wears two
pink roses, one on each cheek.”
“How’s Uncle Lucky?”
“Oh, he’s all right,” laughed the bunny boy.
“He’s always well
And hops up with
The rising bell.”
“Turnip Town!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Dog Driver, and out
jumped the little rabbit boy to buy his chocolate mouse.
“Dear me!” he sighed, as he hopped out of the candy shop, “I must
hurry home,” and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip to the
Shady Forest.
By and by, not so very far, a dreadful howl sounded close at hand.
Dear me! before poor little Jack Rabbit could hop away somebody
grabbed him by the throat.
“Ha, ha, ha! Now I’ve got you!” chuckled a deep, growly voice, and
Mr. Wicked Wolf dropped the little frightened bunny boy into a big
empty gunny sack. Then, throwing it over his shoulder, he started off
for his den in the Shady Forest.
“Ha, ha, ha!” again chuckled Mr. Wicked Wolf, “what a nice dinner
Mrs. Wolf and I will have to-night!”
“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “mother will never again
see her little bunny boy come hopping up the path in the Old Bramble
Patch.”
“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mr. Wolf, as he hurried along with the poor little
rabbit.
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the poor little bunny boy, all alone in the sack
on the back of the big wicked wolf, “what shall I do, what shall I
do? I’m a goner. Yes, I’m a goner, just as sure as
Monday follows Sunday
And sunshine follows rain,
And the little brook flows to the ocean,
And green apples give you a pain!”
Poor Little Jack Rabbit! all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr.
Wicked Wolf.
Just then a little voice from the treetop whispered: “Haven’t you a
knife in your pocket, little rabbit?”
It was Bobbie Redvest’s voice, so low and sweet that Mr. Wicked Wolf,
who was old and deaf, never heard a word.
“Oh, oh, oh!” thought the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little
knees going clitter, clatter and his little heart pitter, patter, “I
wonder if I have?” And he looked through his pockets one by one, his
little pink nose trembling with fright just like a star on a frosty
night. At last, oh joy! and a catch of his breath; he found his knife
in the little handkerchief pocket of his coat.
Then he waited all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.
There! It came again, the little voice from the treetop:
“Cut a hole—in the sack—
Oh, so care-ful-ly!”
All a-tremble, the little rabbit opened his knife and made a slit in
the bag, oh, so qui-et-ly.
Then, thrusting out his head, he was just going to hop away, when the
little voice from the treetop whispered:
“Wait—a—minute.”
“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “I don’t want to wait. I
want to get away.” But he minded the little voice, and it was mighty
well he did, for just then Mr. Wicked Wolf stopped short and said,
“Gee whiskers, I’m getting tired. I guess I’ll sit down on this old
log.” And down he sat, letting the sack slip to the ground. Taking
out his old corncob, he filled it with tobacco and, scratching a
match on his furry trouser leg, commenced to smoke.
“Now’s your chance!” whispered the little voice from the treetop.
Out jumped the little rabbit, but as he was about to hop away, oh,
dear me! again the little voice from the treetop whispered:
“Wait—a—minute.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, “I don’t want to wait. I want
to get away!” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.
“Pick up—that stone—and slip—it in—the sack—oh,—so—care-ful-ly.”
And the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little heart
a-pitter-patter and his little knees a-clitter-clatter, picked up the
stone and slipped it in the sack, oh, so care-ful-ly.
“Wait—a—minute!” whispered the little voice for the third time, as he
was about to hop away.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, looking over his shoulder
at Mr. Wicked Wolf’s hairy back, “if I wait another minute I’ll never
get away.” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.
“Pin up the slit—in the sack—with three—pine needle—pins,” whispered
the little voice. All a-tremble, the poor, distracted little rabbit
hunted on the ground under the big pine tree until he found the three
little pins. Then, oh, so, care-ful-ly, he pinned up the slit in the
sack.
“Now’s your chance!” whispered the little voice. “Hide!”
The next minute the little rabbit had hopped behind a tree. Buttoning
up his pretty white fur overcoat so that it wouldn’t show around the
trunk and drawing together the tips of his little ears, he waited,
oh, so anxiously, for maybe just a minute or three.
“Guess I’m rested now!” said Mr. Wicked Wolf, knocking the ashes from
his pipe and slipping it in his pocket. Then, drawing the sack up on
his shoulder, he started off for home.
“My, what a heavy little bunny you are!” he growled, as he trotted
through the woods.
Pretty soon he jumped over the Bubbling Brook. But when he landed on
the other side,
The great big stone
In the sack
Hit him a dreadful
Whack on the back.
“Oh, my! What a tough little rabbit you are! But wait till I get you
home! Mrs. Wolf will stew you until you’re nice and soft and tender!
Ha, ha!”
“Hey, mother,” he shouted, on reaching his little stone house on the
wooded hillside, “I have a nice little rabbit for supper.”
Letting the sack slip to the ground, Mr. Wicked Wolf untied it, oh,
so care-ful-ly! But, goodness gracious me! When he peeked in and saw
a big stone instead of a tender little rabbit, wasn’t he angry?
Shoving in his paw, he pulled out the stone and hurled it across the
Sunny Meadow. Whack! it came up against the old apple tree, knocking
off twenty big red apples, which almost hit Little Jack Rabbit as he
hopped safely back to the dear Old Bramble Patch, where Lady Love,
his pretty bunny mother, stood waiting for her little boy at the gate
in the old picket fence.
“Cousin Cottontail has invited us over this evening to hear the Jack
Rabbit Man tell stories,” she said, kissing her little bunny boy.
“Ha, ha! That will be fine!” cried the little bunny, forgetting all
about Mr. Wicked Wolf. Dear me, I wish that wicked wolf had forgotten
all about the little rabbit. Then, with a skip and jump, he hopped on
the porch.
“Hello, little rabbit boy,” twittered the canary from her gold cage.
“What makes you so happy?”
“Didn’t you hear what mother just said?” he asked, with a twinkle of
his pretty pink nose.
“No,” answered the pretty yellow bird. “What did she say?”
“That we are invited over to Cousin Cottontail’s to listen on the
radio.”
Just then something happened. Isn’t it a shame that unpleasant things
so often happen?
“No, you’re not going to hear bunny stories to-night,” growled a deep
ugly voice, and there, just outside the Old Bramble Patch, stood Mr.
Wicked Wolf. Dear me! How cruel he looked, his big red tongue hanging
out of his mouth and his long sharp teeth gleaming like bowie knives
in the sunlight.
“What—what are you here for?” asked the little rabbit, all a-tremble.
“Never you mind!” snarled the ugly beast. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“No, no, please don’t wait!” cried the frightened little rabbit.
“Gr-r-r!” growled the big ferocious animal; “I’d like to eat you. I
would, if I could only break through into the Old Bramble Patch.”
Little Jack Rabbit didn’t wait to hear more. Quickly taking down the
canary cage, he hopped one, two, three, go! into his little bungalow.
“Mother! Mother!” he shouted, skip-toeing into the kitchen,
“something dreadful is going to happen to-night. Mr. Wicked Wolf is
waiting outside.”
“You don’t say so!” cried the anxious lady bunny. “Oh, dear! oh,
dear! what shall we do? I declare, I wish your father wouldn’t go
away on business so often.”
“How will we hear the bunny stories to-night?” asked the little
rabbit.
[Illustration: “I gave him a shock of electricity.”]
“Goodness knows!” replied his mother. “Maybe I’d better telephone.”
But, dear, dear me! the wire was out of order and all you could hear
was a dreadful buzzing like a million bees.
“Well, if I’m not mad clear through and through,” said Lady Love.
“The idea of Mr. Wicked Wolf spoiling our evening. I believe he’s
done something to the telephone wire,” and the ex-as-per-ated lady
bunny again took down the receiver. Then, all of a sudden, she
hopped over to the electric drop-light and, unscrewing the silk cord
connection, placed it against the telephone.
Goodness me! What a howl of pain came from the outskirts of the Old
Bramble Patch. With a laugh, Lady Love hopped over to the back porch
and pointed to Mr. Wicked Wolf limping across the Sunny Meadow.
“He had pulled down my telephone wire,” cried the lady bunny, “but
he let go when I gave him a shock of electricity. Ha, ha! I guess he
won’t trouble us any more this evening.” Then putting on her little
sunny bonnet with the pinky roses on it, she and Little Jack Rabbit
hopped over to Cousin Cottontail’s house.
BUNNY TALE 7
TIMMIE MEADOWMOUSE
Little Jack Rabbit looked out of the tiny white bungalow in the Old
Bramble Patch. The rain was falling and the Sunny Meadow wasn’t the
least bit sunny. No, indeed. The Bubbling Brook was making a great
fuss as it rushed along, sometimes overflowing its banks and making
little lakes in the hollow spaces.
“Ker dunk! ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog from his log in the
Old Duck Pond. He didn’t mind the rain. His rubber coat kept him nice
and dry. As for his shoes, I guess he’d never outgrown his boyhood’s
delight in bare legs.
Down from the Farmyard waddled Duckey Waddles on his big wide wabbly
yellow feet. He loved the wet weather, oh, my yes. Pretty soon he
went in for a swim, now and then, and sometimes oftener, standing on
his head in the water to catch a little minnow.
“Quack, quack!” he shouted in answer to Granddaddy Bullfrog’s solemn
“Ker dunk, ker dunk!”
Up at the Farmyard Cocky Doodle, Henny Jenny, Goosey Lucy and Turkey
Tim stood out of the wet under the old cowshed, wondering how long
Mr. Merry Sun would hide behind the gray rain clouds.
On the top of the Big Red Barn the weathercock turned to and fro on
his gilded toe, for Billy Breeze was blowing across the open spaces,
now sending the clouds helter-skelter over the sky, now bending the
dripping bushes or shaking the raindrops from the apple trees.
“I wish you’d let me point to the West,” sighed the Weathercock.
“Then it would soon clear up.”
“Maybe I will,” answered Billy Breeze, and all of a sudden he blew
away a dark cloud and out came Mr. Merry Sun with a smile.
“Hurray!” shouted the Weathercock, swinging about on his toe to point
to the West. “Now we’ll have a beautiful day.”
“I think so,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, hopping out of his pretty
white bungalow and down the narrow path through the rough brambles to
the Sunny Meadow.
Just then who should come along but Timmie Meadowmouse. My, but he
was glad to see the lovely sunshine.
“Howdy! Have you heard the news?” he asked.
“What news?” asked the little rabbit, curiously, thinking, “Goodness
me! Something dreadful has happened,” as he twinked his little pink
nose and winked his two big pink eyes.
“Stop!” cried the tiny meadowmouse, “you make me so dizzy, I can’t
think.”
“All right,” replied the little rabbit, “but hurry. I’m afraid
something has happened to Chippy Chipmunk or the Big Brown Bear.”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, taking off his
little fur cap. All of a sudden, quick as a flash, or a smash or a
dash, down from the sky swooped Hungry Hawk.
“Look out!” shouted the little rabbit, hopping under a bush. But,
dear me! The tiny meadowmouse was just a second too late. The next
minute up in the air he went, held tightly in the cruel claws of the
old hawk.
“Help! help!” shouted poor frightened Timmie Meadowmouse, as higher
and higher flew the big feathered robber until pretty soon he looked
like a tiny speck in the sky.
“How can I save my little friend?” cried the unhappy bunny boy. But
nobody answered him, not even Billy Breeze, who is such a good friend
to all the little people of the Shady Forest and the Sunny Meadow.
The anxious little rabbit looked this way and that way, but all he
could see was a tiny speck in the blue sky as the old robber bird
flew swiftly away.
Just then the bunny boy noticed another speck in the sky, only larger
and of a different shape.
“What is that?” he asked himself, hoping it might be the kind
American Eagle who had once befriended him.
But no, it was not. No, indeed, it was something very, very
different. Oh, my, yes, I should say so.
As there was nothing to be gained by standing still on the Sunny
Meadow, the dis-con-so-late (which means hopelessly unhappy, little
readers) bunny boy rabbit hopped away until, all of a sudden, just
like that, he almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy, who was holding a
long string that rose up and up and up into the air until it ended in
a queer shaped something with a long tail that swung to and fro as
Billy Breeze laughed and whistled across the white cloud meadows of
the sky.
Yes, sir, Little Jack Rabbit almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy. You
see, the little bunny, looking up into the sky as he hopped along,
had paid little attention to his feet.
“Hello!” exclaimed the Farmer’s Boy. “Your eyes are filled with
tears. What’s the matter, little rabbit?”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” cried the little bunny. “Hungry Hawk has
carried off little Timmie Meadowmouse.”
“Where to?” asked the Farmer’s Boy, curiously.
“Do you see that little speck?” asked the sorrowful little rabbit,
pointing upward.
“Yes,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Just to the right of my kite. Yes,
I see it.”
“That’s Hungry Hawk,” sobbed the little bunny boy. “He has Timmie
Meadowmouse in his claws.”
“I’m sorry,” answered the Farmer’s Boy, and then, all of a sudden, he
started to run across the Sunny Meadow, pulling in the kite string at
the same time. For a moment Little Jack Rabbit was too surprised to
move. Then away he hopped after the Farmer’s Boy. You see, the little
bunny was so sorry for the poor little mouse that he forgot all about
his fear of the Farmer’s Boy. Yes, indeed, that’s what sorrow does
sometimes, and maybe oftener. When we are sorry for some one else we
often forget our own troubles.
By the time the little rabbit had caught up to the Farmer’s Boy there
was a great commotion going on ’way up in the big blue sky. Oh, my,
yes. I tell you what, that Farmer’s Boy was a clever fellow. He
hadn’t lived on a farm all his life for nothing. No, indeed. He had
taught himself things which the old schoolmaster never dreamed of as
he sat at his desk in the little red school house on the hill, where
the children’s feet were never still. My, how strangely that boy
behaved! Suddenly he would dash off to the right, then away to the
left; then backward, next forward, sometimes letting out the string,
or winding it up again.
“What is he doing?” thought the little bunny boy, gazing up into the
sky at the big kite, which seemed only a trifle larger than Hungry
Hawk. Oh, dear, I’m so worried for fear that poor little mouse will
be eaten by that dreadful old robber bird.
All of a sudden the Farmer’s Boy, with a yell of delight, started to
run backward as fast as he could go. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” he
kept shouting, as he pulled in the kite, hand over hand.
“What do you mean?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, all a-tremble, hopping
about on one leg.
“I’ve caught the old hawk in my kite! I’m pulling him down, you
betcher!” answered the Farmer’s Boy, as he carefully pulled in the
string hand over hand, taking care to keep the string taut lest
by a sudden slip backward the kite might untangle itself from the
struggling bird. As the good home-made, brown paper kite slowly
descended the little rabbit boy could make out the figure of Hungry
Hawk pressed tight against the frame, his wings entangled in the
face-strings.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Farmer’s Boy. “If I only had four hands and my
gun along, I’d shoot the old bird from here.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” cried the little bunny boy rabbit. “You might hit
Timmie Meadowmouse.”
“Like enough. Never thought about it,” answered the Farmer’s Boy.
“Mebbe it’s just as well the old gun is home.”
By this time the kite was just overhead. Billy Breeze was helping all
he could. He blew hard and strong, with a steady pressure, keeping
the big brown paper kite from dipping. Maybe he was laughing at the
old robber bird! Just then a little black figure dropped on a pile of
hay on the Sunny Meadow.
“It’s Timmie Meadowmouse!” shouted the little bunny boy, but the
Farmer’s Boy was so intent on his job he never turned his head. No,
siree. He had all he could do to manage the kite. Frantically beating
his wings, the old hawk wiggled and jiggled, this way and that,
vainly trying to free himself from the clinging tied-together pieces
of rags that formed the rudder to the big brown kite.
But, dear me! Just as the Farmer’s Boy reached up to grasp the fierce
bird, either Billy Breeze forgot himself, or the good old kite could
stand the strain no longer, or something gave way, a string or two,
maybe a knot. All of a sudden, with a wiggle and jiggle, Hungry Hawk
slipped out and sailed away, up and up, across the Big Red Barn to
the freedom of the open sky.
Yes, away he went. And, oh, dear me!
I’m sorry that crafty old bird is free,
Much like a trouble that’s over to-day
With another one waiting us over the way.
But mother will teach you what to do,
So don’t be afraid of a trouble or two.
[Illustration: “Hello” exclaimed the Farmer’s Boy]
BUNNY TALE 8
INVITATIONS
“Have you heard the news?” asked the Old Brown Horse.
“What news?” enquired Little Jack Rabbit, hopping along with the
friendly steed under the warm rays of Mr. Merry Sun in the Big Blue
Sky.
“Why, the circus is at Turnip City,” answered the Old Brown Horse.
“The Circus Elephant, the funny clowns, and the roller skating bears.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” exclaimed the little rabbit. “I want to see them.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve never been to the circus!” whinnied the
good Old Horse. “Well, you’ve got a treat.”
“Oh, take me to the Circus
To see the elephants dance!
Oh, take me to the Circus
Where the horses neigh and prance;
Where all the clowns make funny jokes
And try to tease the Circus Folks,”
begged the little bunny, hopping back into the Old Bramble Patch.
“So you’d like to go to the circus, eh?” asked Mr. Rabbit, winking at
Lady Love, who was making Turnip Tea for Old Mrs. Bunny.
[Illustration: “Heard the news?” asked the Old Brown Horse.]
“Please take me,” begged the little rabbit.
“All right, I’ll hire the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us, and
maybe a few friends,” answered Mr. Rabbit, and up he hopped to call
dear Uncle Lucky on the telephone:
“Central, give me Clover Dell,
One, two, three, ring Happy Bell.”
“Hello, hello, who’s calling me?
The wire’s buzzing like a bee,”
answered the old gentleman rabbit.
“Listen, Uncle Lucky! I’m hiring the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take
us all to your circus at Turnip City,” explained Mr. Rabbit.
“Well, I’ll come over with a bushel of passes,” answered the dear
generous old gentleman bunny. “What time do you go?”
“At seven o’clock to-morrow morning. We must get an early start,”
answered Mr. Rabbit.
“Now, whom shall we invite?” he enquired, turning to his small bunny
son, who was hopping about, so happy to know he was going to the
circus to see the animals and the clowns, and maybe a monkey and a
bear and a Mexican dog without any hair.
“Whom shall we invite?” repeated Mr. Rabbit.
“All your friends and all my friends, and maybe some more,” answered
the bunny boy with a hop, skip and jump out on the porch of the
little white house in the Old Bramble Patch.
Just then the little canary bird in her gold cage began to twitter:
“The birds within the Shady Wood
And on the Meadow Green,
Are building nests of twigs and strings
And moss pressed in between.
But I’m content within my cage
To sing my sweetest song.
For discontent, my little boy,
Will often set you wrong.”
“I’m not discontented,” replied the little bunny boy, “I’m happy.
Father is going to take me to the circus,” and he hopped down the
path through the bramble bushes.
“Timmie Meadowmouse, Timmie Meadowmouse!”
“What do you want?” asked the tiny mouse, peeking out of his little
round house of woven grass.
“Want to go to the circus? Father is going to hire the Billy Goat
Stage. We start at 7 to-morrow morning.”
“I’ll be up bright and early,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, darting
back into his little house to get out his best Sunday-go-to-meeting
suit.
“Timmie Meadowmouse will go,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, hopping back
into the house.
“Nobody will refuse, I imagine,” laughed Lady Love. “Whom else have
you invited?”
“I’m going over to the Barnyard,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’ll
invite everybody I meet,” and off he hopped. By and by, after a
while, but not nearly a mile, he spied Granddaddy Bullfrog on his big
log near the bank of the Old Duck Pond.
“Oh, Granddaddy Bullfrog! Father is going to hire the Billy Goat
Stage Coach to take us all to the circus to-morrow morning. We start
at 7, right after breakfast. Will you come along?”
“To be sure I will,” answered the old frog. “I haven’t been to the
circus for a long time. Hurrah! I’ll be a kid again and eat a ton of
peanuts—maybe!”
“Be at the Old Bramble Patch on time,” shouted the little rabbit, who
by this time was half across the Sunny Meadow on his merry way.
“Hello, hello! What brings you here?”
Asked the Weathercock from on high.
Always first to spy anything
With his wonderful lookout eye.
“I’m inviting all my friends to the circus,” replied the little
bunny, with a happy laugh. “We all leave to-morrow morning at 7,
right after breakfast. Where’s Cocky Doodle?”
“Here I am,” crowed the little rooster. “I heard you. I’ll go to the
circus. Many thanks.”
“Cackle, cackle, what do you think,
This morning the sky was yellow and pink.
Mr. Merry Sun was just out of bed—
His nightcap crinkled all over his head,”
cackled Henny Jenny, who had just laid a pretty white egg in her
little round nest.
“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit. “We
start to-morrow morning at seven from the Old Bramble Patch. Father
has hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to Uncle Lucky’s
Circus at Turnip City.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll wear my nicest dress
And my pinky coral comb.
You’ll surely bring me back again,
For it’s very far from home.”
“Of course we will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“Don’t forget me,” cried Goosey Lucy.
“Will you come?” asked the little bunny.
“To be sure,” answered the nice lady goose. “Don’t forget Ducky
Waddles.”
“Where is he?” asked the bunny boy, looking here and there and
everywhere.
“He went for a swim in the Old Duck Pond,” answered Henny Jenny.
“Why, I just came from there,” replied the little bunny. “I didn’t
see him. I saw only Granddaddy Bullfrog.”
“Well, you see him now,” quacked a familiar voice, and there stood
Ducky Waddles himself. He had just waddled around from behind the Big
Red Barn.
“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“I couldn’t refuse,” laughed the nice little duck.
Now, I wonder next who will be invited to the Circus. Listen, and
you shall hear, for the little bunny has just hopped around the Big
Haystack.
“Mrs. Cow, won’t you come to the circus?”
“Where is it?” enquired that nice lady cow, whipping her tail to and
fro to scare away the flies. “I can’t go far for my little baby calf
needs me ’most all the time.”
“At Turnip City,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“Oh, dear! You must excuse me,” replied Mrs. Cow. “That’s too far
away. I’ll wait for Uncle Lucky’s Circus to come to Rabbitville. But
thank you, just the same.”
“Now, who else?” thought the little bunny, when, all of a sudden, he
spied Turkey Tim.
“Won’t you come to my circus party?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered the big turkey gobbler. “What time, and
where, and how?”
“To-morrow morning at seven o’clock we all go in the Billy Goat Stage
Coach. Be on time at the Old Bramble Patch,” and away hopped Little
Jack Rabbit, his long ears catching the turkey gobbler’s poetry
answer:
“I’ll be there before it’s seven,
I’ll be first of the umpty-’leven.”
Pretty soon the little bunny spied Squirrel Nutcracker in his gray
fur suit, sitting on a tree stump in the Shady Forest.
“Oh, won’t you be glad when you hear what I’m going to say,” laughed
the rabbit boy.
“Hurry up and tell me,” cried the curious squirrel.
“I’m giving a circus party,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “And we’ve
hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all down to the circus at
Turnip City. Want to come along?”
[Illustration: “Well, I guess yes three times!”]
“Well, I guess yes three times!” answered Squirrel Nutcracker,
springing up from the log to dance about on his hind legs. “It’s a
whole year since I’ve been to the circus.”
“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow morning at seven,”
replied the little bunny, and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty
lip, up the winding trail to the cave of the Big Brown Bear.
“Hello, hello!” shouted the little rabbit.
“What’s the matter?” enquired a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Bear came
to the door, over which hung a big sign;
LOLLYPOPS AND HONEY.
“What can I do for you, bunny boy?
Do you wish a lollypop for a toy?”
he asked, his growly voice changing into a nice friendly voice on
seeing the little bunny.
“I’d like a lollypop,” answered the little rabbit, “but I don’t want
to play with it—I’ll eat it.”
“All right,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, shuffling into his cave for
a yellow lollypop with little raisins on the top.
“I’m giving a circus party,” explained the bunny boy, sitting down
beside the Big Brown Bear. “Want to come?”
“Well, I should say so,” answered the big kind animal. “I have a
cousin who skates on wheels in Uncle Lucky’s circus. I’d like to see
him.”
“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow at seven in the
early morning. We’re all going in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. Won’t
we have fun?”
“More fun than a bagful of monkeys,” answered the Big Brown Bear,
filling his pipe with dry corncob silk and puffing away for maybe a
minute and maybe more, while the smoke curled up to the top of the
door.
“Who else is going?”
“Oh, everybody,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Granddaddy Bullfrog,
Henny Jenny, Cocky Doodle, Turkey Tim, Goosey Lucy, Ducky Waddles,
Timmie Meadowmouse, Chippy Chipmunk, and lots more whom I haven’t yet
invited.”
“Will the Billy Goat Stage Coach hold them all?” asked the Big Brown
Bear re-flec-tive-ly, which means “thinking it over,” dear little
boys and girls.
“I guess so,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Some can sit on top and
some under the seats and some on the seats, and—oh, yes, I’m sure it
will hold us all.”
“All right, I’ll be on time, for
I love the clowns and the sawdust ring,
In fact, I love ’most everything
That’s in the circus and round about;
The lion’s roar and the elephant’s shout,
The pistol shot and the cracking whip,
And the chariot driver’s furious clip,”
sang the Big Brown Bear.
“I’ll be looking for you,” said the little rabbit, as he hopped away
to invite more of his Shady Forest friends. In a little while he came
to the Forest Pool. There sat Busy Beaver on the mud roof of his
little house, happy and contented, for the day was warm and bright
and he had slumbered well all night.
On seeing the little rabbit, he dived into the water and swam over to
the bank.
“Hello, what brings you here?” he asked, for something in the little
rabbit’s manner told him there was a surprise in store.
“Give you three guesses,” laughed the little bunny. “Three guesses
and then two more.”
“Danny Fox been caught?”
“No,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“Mr. Wicked Weasel in jail?”
“No,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“Chippy Chipmunk has the measles?”
“No,” replied Little Jack Rabbit, with a shake of his head.
“Well, what is it, then?” asked Busy Beaver.
“Circus Party!” shouted the little bunny. “I’m giving a circus party
at Turnip City. Have you been to Uncle Lucky’s Circus?”
“Not yet,” replied the little beaver.
“Be sure to come to the Old Bramble Patch at seven to-morrow morning.
We’re all going down in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. So be on time and
don’t forget, for we’ll have a jolly time, you bet,” and away hopped
the little rabbit to invite other friends in the Shady Forest.
In a little while, not so very far, he met Peter Possum and his
family.
“Won’t you all come to my circus party?” asked the bunny boy.
“What time?” enquired the old Possum.
“To-morrow morning at seven the Billy Goat Stage Coach will be at the
Old Bramble Patch. So be on time and don’t be late, for we’ll not
have a minute to wait,” shouted the little rabbit, hopping swiftly
away to find another friend, and maybe two, for his circus party.
“I wonder whether Professor Crow would like to come,” thought the
little bunny. “Maybe he’ll be pleased to be invited. Anyway, there’s
no harm in asking him.”
“What’s the matter? Any one ill?
Doctor Quack has a wonderful pill,”
shouted the old Professor Bird looking out of his window as the bunny
boy knocked on the tiny door in the Tall Pine Tree.
“I don’t need Dr. Quack, the famous duck doctor,” he answered. “I’m
giving a circus party. Won’t you and Mrs. Crow and Blackie Crow
come? We start to-morrow morning at seven right after breakfast from
the Old Bramble Patch. The Billy Goat Stage Coach will take us all
to Turnip City where the circus people are giving a show. I’m sure
little Blackie will love to go.”
“We all will,” answered Professor Crow. “It makes me feel young again
just to think of it. Thank you. We’ll be on time.”
BUNNY TALE 9
THE CIRCUS
Goodness gracious me! That Billy Goat Stage Coach will be dreadfully
crowded if Little Jack Rabbit invites many more friends to his circus
party. Of course, when you come to think it over, the birds can perch
on the roof and the little animals crawl under the seats; maybe one
or two might sit with the stage coach driver, the nice Old Dog who
smokes a big pipe while holding the reins in his left paw and the
whip in his right. Oh, he’s a good driver, so kind and gentle that
the billy goat team will do anything for him.
“Dear me, I mustn’t forget a single friend,” thought the little
rabbit, as he hopped over the Bubbling Brook and across the Sunny
Meadow to the Old Brush Heap.
Up the well-worn little path he hurried, clipperty clip, lipperty
lip, to Cousin Cottontail’s little bungalow under the trailing green
vines.
“Cousin Cottontail,” he shouted, “where are you?”
“We’re here,” came the answer, and out popped all the little
cottontails, one after another—five in all, their pink noses
twinkling like so many little stars.
“I’m giving a circus party to-morrow,” said Little Jack Rabbit. “Want
to come?”
Gracious me! I don’t see why he thought it necessary to ask five
little bunnies if they wanted to go to the circus!
“Of course we do,” they all shouted at once, which brought Mrs.
Cottontail to the door to find out what all the noise was about.
“What time do you start?” she asked.
“At seven to-morrow morning. We all go in the Billy Goat Stage
Coach,” explained Little Jack Rabbit. “Please be on time, for if we
don’t get an early start we may not reach Turnip City in time to see
the Grand Parade of all the Queer People.”
“We’ll be over bright and early,” promised Mrs. Cottontail. “Don’t
you worry about us. Maybe some of your other friends will keep you
waiting, but not your old auntie.”
Pretty soon she brought out an apronful of nice cookies, just hot out
of the oven.
Oh, what a nice feast all the little rabbits had! Nor did they forget
to save the crumbs for Bobbie Redvest, who happened to pass by later
on.
“Well, I guess I must be going,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, when the
last cookie was gone. “Mother will worry if I’m late for supper.”
And away he hopped, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, down the little
path under the Big Brush Heap and across the Pleasant Meadow to the
Bubbling Brook, over which he hopped to the Sunny Meadow. At last he
was safe home in the dear Old Bramble Patch, eating a nice supper of
stewed lollypops.
It seemed to him that he had hardly jumped into bed and fallen asleep
when:
“Wake up, wake up! It’s almost time
For the Billy Goat Stage to be here.
Will I have to climb to your little bedroom
And shout it out loud in your ear?”
sang the cuckoo bird from her pretty clock house.
Out of bed hopped Lady Love and Mr. Rabbit; off came Grandma Bunny’s
night cap, and in less time than I can take to tell it they were all
dressed and in the kitchen, eating a breakfast of lollypop porridge,
turnip tea and carrot cakes with maple syrup.
“All aboard for Turnip Town
To see the elephant and the clown;
It’s miles and miles to Turnip Square,
We must start now if we want to get there,”
all of a sudden barked the Old Dog Driver atop the Billy Goat Stage
Coach.
“Wait a minute,” begged Grandmother Magpie.
“I’m coming,” panted the Big Brown Bear.
“Here I am,” called out Granddaddy Bullfrog.
“I’m on time,” laughed Cousin Cottontail, with her five little
bunnies hopping after her.
“Who said I was late?” cackled Henny Jenny.
“Good morning, I’m here,” said Turkey Tim.
“Is there room enough for me?” asked Timmie Meadowmouse.
“I’ll sit on top,” sang Bobbie Redvest.
“So will I,” said Squirrel Nutcracker.
“And that’s where I’ll sit,” said pretty Mrs. Oriole.
“I’m with you,” cawed Professor Jim Crow, seating himself with his
family.
“Room for one more?” asked Ducky Waddles.
“I was nearly late,” cried Cocky Doodle.
“Let me squeeze in,” crowed the Old Red Rooster.
“Don’t step on us,” chirped the Three Little Grasshoppers.
“Nor on me,” squeaked little Miss Cricket.
“Hold on, I’m getting in,” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“I ran all the way,” panted Busy Beaver.
“So did I,” said Chippy Chipmunk.
“Any more?” asked the Old Dog Driver.
“Yes, yes!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky. “I’m going,” and the dear old
gentleman rabbit hopped out of his Luckymobile and into the Stage
Coach.
“I guess everybody’s here,” said Mr. Rabbit.
“Who’s that coming across the meadows?” asked the lady bunny, looking
out of the stage coach window.
“Why, bless my pink tie and horseshoe pin,” exclaimed Uncle Lucky,
“it’s Goosey Lucy.”
As soon as she was aboard, the Old Dog Driver cracked his whip and
away they went to Turnip City to see Uncle Lucky’s wonderful circus.
Over the bumps and over the stones,
While the lollypops rattled the ice-cream cones,
Went the Billy Goat Stage Coach with a quiver
Till at last it reached the Sippi River.
“Whoa!” shouted the Old Dog Driver, pulling in his team of billy
goats. “Whoa!” and this time he said it so loud that an old duck
waddled out of a little house close to the bridge gate.
“My gracious!” she quacked, “you have a load, all right. I never saw
so many animals and birds in a stage coach before, and I’m an old
duck. Oh, yes, I’m as old as a good many great-great-grandmothers.”
“What is the toll?” asked the Old Dog Driver, lighting his pipe and
puffing out a cloud of smoke.
“Five carrot cents for the stage coach, ten carrot cents for the
Billy Goat Team, two carrot cents for yourself, and three carrot
cents for each passenger,” answered the old lady duck.
“Dear me,” whined the Old Dog Driver, “it will take some time to
count it all up. How will a lettuce leaf dollar bill suit you?”
“Won’t do,” answered the old lady duck. My, wasn’t she particular,
though?
“Well then, let’s start counting,” sighed the Old Dog Driver. “You
count those on top and I’ll count those inside, and who gets done
first, wins.”
“Wins what?” asked the old Lady Duck.
“A Little Jack Rabbit Book,” laughed the Old Dog Driver. “I have one
in my pocket for your little grand duckling. Hurry up and win.”
Then, goodness me! How that lady duck did count! In less than five
hundred short seconds she had finished and the Old Dog Driver had
only just begun.
Well, sir, when it came to pay, the toll was more than a lettuce leaf
dollar bill. Dear me, yes. But what it was I won’t bother to tell
you, for I haven’t had time to count the passengers. Have you?
As soon as the toll gate swung open, over the bridge, pranced the
billy goats, rapperty rap, rapperty rap, and before very long they
were galloping up a steep hill, for those billy goats didn’t mind
that. No, siree! They were used to climbing mountains and, besides,
everybody was singing:
“I want to go to the Circus,
To see the elephants dance.
I want to run round the sawdust ring
In my very best Sunday pants.
I’m crazy to sip the pink lemonade,
Oh, get me in time for the Big Parade!
Oh, hurry up faster, for I am afraid
I’ll surely go crazy if we are delayed!”
My goodness! how that Billy Goat Coach rolled over the pebbles and
over the stones. And how those billy goats pranced and threw out
their heels, shook their heads and their long horns.
“Gid-ap!” barked the Old Dog Driver.
“Let ’er go!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky.
Away, faster than ever, and faster still, went the billy goats up the
big steep hill, and down the other side to Rabbitville.
Along Lettuce Avenue they clattered, past the Three-in-One Cent
Store, past the Welsh Rarebit Club and the Post Office, from the
doorway of which the Old Maid Grasshopper waved a white pocket
handkerchief; past the Old Mill where the Dusty Moth Miller ground
the corn for the farmer bunnies; past the house of Dr. Quack, the
famous duck doctor, and the little green house in which Mrs. Mouse
lived.
Dear me! I could go on and on just like the old coach, and say so
much that I’d have no room to put in what happened when it finally
drew up in Turnip City.
“Whoa there, my good little billy goats!” shouted the Old Dog Driver,
as the big Policeman Dog held up his paw to stop the taxis and wagons
until everybody was safe on the sidewalk. Then the Old Dog Driver
gave the billy goats a nice drink of water at the fountain and drove
around to the wagon entrance on Cabbage Street.
Well, it didn’t take the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow people long to
walk into the tent. Uncle Lucky headed the procession, Little Jack
Rabbit next, then Grandma Bunny and Lady Love, Mr. Rabbit and the Big
Brown Bear, until, way down at the end, waddled Ducky Waddles.
“Quack, quack! Please hurry!” he begged, beginning to fear the
circus would be over by the time he entered the tent.
But he needn’t have worried, for the Old Dog Driver had arrived early.
“Come on, Timmie Meadowmouse,” cried the little bunny, “I must see
the animals.”
Pretty soon they came to a little tent. They didn’t know it belonged
to the Circus Queen, the lovely lady dressed in gauze and gold
spangles, who rode on the big white horse.
There she sat on a circus trunk, holding in her arms a little baby.
“Hush-a-by, hush-a-by,
Little Boy Blue,
Mother is singing
A dream song to you.
Some day you’ll grow
To be a big Clown,
And you’ll make ’em laugh
In city and town.
But I’ll love you best,
If you’ll whisper ‘Goo, goo.’
To help me remember
How little were you.”
“Gracious me!” she exclaimed in a whisper on seeing Little Jack
Rabbit and Timmie Meadowmouse, “am I dreaming? Maybe I’m in By-low
Land!”
“No, m’am,” answered the little bunny, taking off his khaki cap, “I
hear them calling you!”
[Illustration: “Some day you’ll grow to be a big clown.”]
Sure enough, a man’s voice was shouting, “Liz, oh, Liz! Liz, Liz!”
“I’m coming,” answered the Circus Queen, tenderly placing the
sleeping baby in its cradle.
Just outside stood a big white horse, and before the little bunny
could say “Oh! Ah!” she was riding into the big tent. “Hurrah!
Hurray! Here’s Lizzie Gray, she’s riding better every day!” clapped
and shouted all the people.
But nobody knew she was a loving mother nor that just outside in the
little tent slept Boy Blue.
All of a sudden the band struck up and a funny clown began to sing:
“Uncle Lucky’s Big Star Show,
That’s our circus name,
From Lettuce Square to Everywhere
We play the circus game.
Over the tanbark in the ring
I turn a somersault or a spring,
And then I give a merry laugh
That tickles to death the big giraffe.”
After that the big parade went around the ring, pretty girls dressed up
as butterflies, elephants gayly decorated with diamond chains, camels
carrying gorgeously gowned ladies, big floats with funny little dwarfs.
Everything you can think of, and lots of things you’d never dream of.
My, wasn’t it fun. Well, I guess yes three times, and
maybe four. I’m sure I can’t count, I’m so excited just
writing about the circus.
For I’m still a boy I’ll let you know,
And I’m never too tired or fagged to go
To see the circus. Not me, you bet!
If it hadn’t closed down I’d be there yet.
“Hurrah!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit. “There’s the circus Queen!”
“Hurray!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, and the next minute he shouted
it three times for the trained bear had begun to roller skate.
[Illustration: “The trained bear had begun to roller skate.”]
Goodness me! How the Shady Forest Folk and the Sunny Meadow People
enjoyed it all. Even Grandmother Magpie smiled and clapped her wings.
As for Granddaddy Bullfrog, he hip-hurrayed until he grew so husky
that he didn’t make a sound when he opened his mouth.
By and by, after a while, the show ended and Little Jack Rabbit’s
Circus Party marched out and into the Billy Goat Stage Coach.
“Good-by, come again next year!” cried the big Policeman Dog on the
street corner.
“Much obliged,” answered Uncle Lucky, waving his old wedding
stovepipe hat. “We’ll be back inside a year, see you keep the
crossing clear; let no taxi run us down when we come to Turnip Town.”
Then away rattled the stage coach, the two little billy goats
prancing up Lettuce Avenue as gayly as you please.
“Toot, toot!” went the ferryboat whistle, as it neared the river.
“Hurry up!” it seemed to say. So the Old Dog Driver cracked his whip
over the heads of the billy goats and in a few minutes all were on
board.
“Tinkle, tinkle!” sounded the bell, the big paddle wheels commenced
to turn, and in less time than I can take to tell it the ferryboat
was half across the River Sippi, and almost before dear Uncle Lucky
could get his shoes shined it bumped into the ferry slip.
“Well, well, well! Here we are!” exclaimed the dear old gentleman
rabbit, when the Billy Goat Stage Coach at last drew up before the
Old Bramble Patch;
“There’s no place like home,
Be it ever so humble,”
Said the little gold bee
With a buzz and a bumble.
In a few minutes the coach was empty and as soon as the little people
of the forest and meadow had thanked Little Jack Rabbit for a good
time, they either hopped or ran or flew to their homes. Pretty soon
there was nobody left, so the happy rabbit family hopped into the
little white house in the Old Bramble Patch. In a few minutes the
nice old lady bunny and Lady Love had prepared a nice hot supper.
“I declare,” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, setting down his cup of hot
turnip tea, “that certainly was the best circus I’ve been to in many
a year.”
“I’ll tell the world,” agreed Little Jack Rabbit.
“What do you know about circuses, you little bunny?” laughed the
funny old gentleman rabbit. “This is the first time you’ve ever been
to one.”
“That doesn’t matter,” answered the little bunny. “I’ve dreamed about
them many a time, and some dreams are very real.”
“Make your dreams come true—
Dreams are part of you,”
softly twittered the little canary.
“That reminds me of a story,” mused dear Uncle Lucky, pushing up his
spectacles and settling himself comfortably in the old arm chair:
“Once upon a time a little bird in a blue coat sat on an Old Snake
Fence. All around him the earth was dingy, the trees bare and
leafless. The chilly wind kept little patches of snow still lingering
in the shady hollow places. But all this didn’t keep the brave little
bird from whistling merrily, for in his heart he held a dream of
summer, red roses and green woods, grassy meadows and little hills
covered with wild strawberries.
“So he sang his song of promise to his mate while she made a
comfortable nest in a dry hole in a fence post. By and by, when
it was finished, she filled it with pretty eggs, on which she sat
to warm them with her feathers. And while she sat there she, too,
dreamed—dreamed of four little bluebirds.
“As the sun grew warmer and the meadow greener and the forest more
leafy, one by one the little bluebirds broke open the shells.
“‘Tirel loo, tirel loo,
Make your happy dreams come true.
See, the spring has come again
With the sunshine after rain,
And beneath the mother’s breast
Four blue birdies in the nest,’
sang the Bluebird from the top rail of the Old Snake
Fence. There,” said dear Uncle Lucky, “that’s all!”
BUNNY TALE 10
THE CIRCUS ELEPHANT
For days nobody talked of anything but the Circus party. From bush and
tree in the Shady Forest, from hollow and hill in the Sunny Meadow, the
Little Feathered and Fourfooted Folk were telling over and over again
the wonderful things they had seen at the circus.
“Gracious me,” chuckled the Big Brown Bear, “that cousin of mine
certainly can roller skate.”
“Well, he was no better than my relative who flew through the ring of
flames,” cried Professor Jim Crow.
“Nor any braver than my nephew who fired the pistol. That pup was some
dog!” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp, wagging his tail.
“Well, just the same, I’m glad to be back on my old log,” said
Granddaddy Bullfrog. “There’s always something going on in the Old Duck
Pond. If it isn’t a perch chasing a minnow, it’s Ducky Waddles. Mrs.
Darning Needle is never idle and the little tadpoles make me laugh.”
After a week, however, every one settled down again. Little Jack Rabbit
had almost forgotten that he’d ever been to a circus when one day just
about noontime, who should come along but the Big Circus Elephant. Dear
me, how tired he looked! His coat was covered with dust and there was
a dent in the little hat on the top of his head. I suppose in coming
through the Shady Forest the big animal had brushed against a branch.
“Whew, I’m tired!” he cried, sitting down under the Big Chestnut Tree
near which Chippy Chipmunk had his home. “It’s a long way from Turnip
City.”
[Illustration: The little bunny handing a rose to Lady Love.]
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Little Jack Rabbit, hopping up beside him. “How
long did it take you?”
“Two days and forty-four miles,” answered the tired Elephant. “But
I’m here at last. So let’s forget troubles and look ahead, as my good
mother used to say when I was a kid in Jungle Land.”
“Are you hungry?” asked Little Jack Rabbit. “I have two lollypops and a
custard pie in my knapsack.”
“Let’s look at ’em,” answered the Elephant, taking off his hat to wipe
his forehead with a pocket handkerchief as large as a table cloth.
“Here they are,” said the little bunny.
“Look pretty nice,” grunted the Circus Elephant, carefully holding the
pie with the little finger on the end of his trunk. “Tastes just as
good. Got any more?”
“No, but Mother bakes to-day,” answered the bunny boy, “perhaps she’ll
bake a big one for you.”
When the Elephant had finished the lollypops he felt better, so he
said, and, taking off his hat, he leaned against the Big Chestnut Tree
and fell asleep.
“My goodness! It takes an elephant a long time to wake up,” thought the
little rabbit, when at last his big circus friend opened his eyes.
“Nothing like a little nap,” yawned the great big animal, rubbing his
ear and stretching his hind legs. After that he yawned again, turning
up his trunk to get a good long breath of fresh air.
“I dreamed you were handing me a peanut.”
“My, but you snored,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit. “I couldn’t go to
sleep until I pretended you were a big engine in a lollypop factory.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Circus Elephant. “That reminds me. Didn’t you say
it was baking day at the Old Bramble Patch?”
“I did,” replied the bunny boy.
“All right, we’ll make a call on your mother,” said the Circus
Elephant, scrambling to his feet. “How do I look?” he asked,
straightening his bow tie.
“Very nice,” answered Little Jack Rabbit, “except your trousers.
They’re all covered with bits of dry leaves.”
“So they are,” said the Circus Elephant, looking down. “Have you a
whisk broom?”
The little bunny opened his knapsack and, taking out a small broom,
carefully brushed off the big Elephant.
“I can’t reach your hip-pocket,” he said, standing on tiptoe.
“Here, give me the broom,” said the Circus Elephant, and, grasping the
handle in his trunk, he dusted himself off as well as Mister Rastus
Coon, the kind porter on the “Cabbage” Pullman Car, brushes a sleepy
passenger.
“Now I’ll lift you up on my back,” and the next minute Little Jack
Rabbit found himself riding off on the big animal.
By and by, after a while, and maybe a mile and a bump and a smile, they
met Old Man Weasel. But Little Jack Rabbit wasn’t afraid. Oh, dear, no!
Why should he be? He was way up high on the Circus Elephant’s broad
back. Old Man Weasel couldn’t reach up that far, not even if he stood
on tiptoe.
“Get out of my way,” roared the big Elephant. “You’re blocking up the
path.”
“Where are you going?” snarled Old Man Weasel, stepping aside. My,
didn’t he look ugly! Well, I just guess he did. But that didn’t do him
any good.
“Never you mind,” replied the Circus Elephant. “You’re no friend of
ours.”
“If you meet a wicked weasel
And you are all alone,
You get a creepy feeling
Along your spinal bone.
But if you have an elephant
To guard you with his trunk,
You laugh at Mr. Weasel,”
Sang naughty Sammy Skunk
from his Shady Forest house.
“Oh, keep quiet, will you?” snapped the Old Weasel.
“Why should he?” asked the big Circus Elephant. “He speaks the truth.
Can’t say that about you!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Little Jack Rabbit. “Won’t Uncle Lucky smile when I
tell him what has happened?”
“I’ve a good mind to bite you,” cried Old Man Weasel, glaring at Sammy
Skunk.
“You’d better not,” replied Sammy Skunk. “You know what I’ll do to you.”
Of course Old Man Weasel did, and so did all the Shady Forest Folk. But
if they don’t meddle with Sammy Skunk he treats them very politely.
Yes, indeed.
“Well, so long,” sang out the big Circus Elephant. “We’ve no more time
to talk,” and off he went at a rapid pace, and by and by, after a
while, not nearly a mile, with a bump and a smile, he stopped at the
gate in the old Rail Fence.
“I’ll take down the bars,” he said. “I guess Mrs. Cow won’t try to get
out while we’re walking in.”
“Oh, no,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “She likes the Sunny Meadow.
Besides, she is way over there,” pointing toward the Old Duck Pond.
“She won’t bother us.”
After the big Circus Elephant had put back the bars he followed the Old
Cow Path through the Sunny Meadow to the Old Bramble Patch in the far
corner of the Old Rail Fence. Setting the little rabbit down, he wiped
his forehead with a big blue silk handkerchief nearly as large as a
sheet.
“When does your mother take the cake from the oven?” he asked, with a
funny wink, looking at his watch.
“When it’s done,” replied the little rabbit.
“I’ll sit here and wait,” said the big Circus Elephant. So the little
bunny hopped into the Old Bramble Patch and around to the back door of
the little white bungalow.
Dear me, I almost forgot to say that Lady Love, the little bunny’s
pretty mother, was baking angel cake that particular day.
Pretty soon the little rabbit hopped back to his big kind friend with a
piece of cake almost as big as a soda cracker.
“Dear, dear,” cried the disappointed circus animal, “this may be enough
for a rabbit but, goodness me! and dearest you! it isn’t a swallow for
me!”
[Illustration: Just then down swooped Hungry Hawk.]
“I’ll go back for another piece,” said the little bunny, and away he
hopped up the little path and around to the kitchen door. But, oh,
dear me! If only he had not stopped to speak to Timmie Meadowmouse.
Just then down swooped Hungry Hawk. Into an old hollow log slipped the
little mouse, but before the poor little rabbit could hide this cruel
bird robber picked him up in his claws and flew away toward the Shady
Forest.
“Help, help!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit.
Hopping out on the kitchen porch, poor Lady Love looked up to the sky.
But that’s all she could do. She had no wings to fly after her little
son. And, anyway, how could she, a gentle lady bunny, fight a big cruel
hawk!
But the Circus Elephant on hearing the little bunny’s cries, answered
with a loud trumpet and set off at a run for the Shady Forest. My,
you’d be surprised how fast an elephant can run when he wants to!
Wrinkling his forehead, he pondered what to do. All of a sudden he
remembered the big long lasso in his pocket. Quickly coiling it cow-boy
fashion, he let it go, Zip! And would you believe it if I didn’t tell
you? The noose fell right over the old hawk’s head and around his neck
just like the muffler my Uncle John used to wear when I was a boy down
on the farm.
“Now I’ll bring you down!” cried the Circus Elephant. But, oh, dearest
me! Quicker than the bills on the first of the month that crafty old
robber hawk gave his head a wiggle-jiggle and off came the noose.
“Ha, ha!” shouted Hungry Hawk, and away he flew with poor little Jack
Rabbit.
BUNNY TALE 11
THE LITTLE MOUNTAIN GOAT
“Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do?
I’ll never get him with my old lasso!”
Cried the Circus Elephant with a sigh,
As he looked at Hungry Hawk on high.
Now I hope you haven’t forgotten what just took place. How Hungry
Hawk had picked up poor Little Jack Rabbit. Of course you haven’t!
Nor how the big kind Circus Elephant had almost caught this bad
robber bird with a long lasso.
But, dear me! I wonder what is happening to Little Jack Rabbit all
this time. Maybe the cruel hawk has eaten him for dinner or supper or
maybe breakfast.
“Well, I’m not going to give up hope,” said the big Elephant to
himself, again setting off after Hungry Hawk, who now could hardly be
made out up in the sky so far away.
By and by the Elephant came to a mountain. My, but it was a steep old
mountain. Right up and down—almost straight, you know. “Dear me!”
almost sobbed the anxious circus animal, sitting down to consider the
best thing to do—climb up the mountain or walk around it.
“Right on the top of this mountain’s crest
Hungry Hawk has his castle nest,”
all of a sudden, just like that, shouted a voice.
“Who spoke?” asked the Elephant, mighty anxious to find out quickly
if there were a road up this steep, high mountain.
“Look!” answered the same kind voice, and the next minute a little
white mountain goat stood before him.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re a mountain goat,” laughed the big animal.
“I’m so glad I could cry. Maybe you can climb up and rescue my Little
Jack Rabbit.”
“I can’t fight old Hungry Hawk,” answered the little Mountain Goat.
“He’s too strong for me.”
“Dear, dear, dearest me!” cried the poor distracted Elephant, “then
how can we save my little bunny friend?”
“I can help you climb the mountain,” answered the little Mountain
Goat.
“Me?” enquired the big animal. “How could you help a great big
elephant up this steep, right-up-and-down, mountain, I should like to
know.”
“That won’t be so hard,” answered the little Mountain Goat. “Give me
your lasso.”
Throwing the loop over his horns, the little Mountain Goat started
to climb up the mountain side. First he jumped to a ledge of rock,
then scrambled up sideways, then sideways the other way, then another
jump, and perhaps two, and then a scramble.
After working his way up almost as far as the length of the long
rope, he braced his forefeet against a rock and called down: “Pull
yourself up with your trunk!”
Well, sir, that’s just what that big kind anxious Circus Elephant
did. He took hold of that rope with his trunk and up he went, hand
over hand—I mean trunk over trunk—just like a fireman, and by and by,
pretty soon, not so very quick, he stood beside the little Mountain
Goat.
“Good for you,” exclaimed that plucky little animal, as the Elephant
took out his big pocket handkerchief to wipe his forehead. “You came
up all right. Now wait here while I climb up higher.” Up and up went
the little Mountain Goat, now sideways, now straight; now the other
way sideways, then a jump and a scramble, or a scramble and a jump,
or two jumps, or two scrambles till, by and by, not so pretty soon,
but after a while, he called down; “Come on, pull yourself up!”
Then up went the big Circus Elephant trunk over trunk—now slipping
and sprawling, or sprawling and slipping till, by and by, after a
while, out of breath, with a dusty smile, he stood by the side of the
little Mountain Goat.
“Good for you! Now wait here till I go up. Don’t slip, but stand
still.” And away went this nimble little goat up, up, up; now
sideways, this way and that; now up straight; then slanting, right
and left, criss-cross, with a jump and a leap, or a scramble and a
scrumble, making the pebbles fly downward, and sometimes a big rock,
till, by and by, after a while, up nearly a mile, he called down:
“Come on, pull yourself up!”
Again bracing his front feet, the little mountain goat held on to the
long rope, the loop of which was over his strong little horns, you
know, until the Elephant had drawn himself up.
“Whew!” exclaimed the big animal. “Aren’t we ’most there?”
“Almost,” answered the little Mountain Goat, and up he went again.
When at last he reached the top the big Elephant could hardly touch
the end of the lasso, and then only by standing up on his hind legs
and stretching ’way up with his trunk. But he just could, all right.
So up he went, trunk over trunk, scrambling and tugging and panting
and puffing, till by and by, after a while, and it seemed like a
mile, he stood by the side of the little goat on the tip-top of the
mountain.
Dearest me, I thought the little Mountain Goat and the big kind
Circus Elephant would never reach the mountain top, didn’t you? I’m
mighty glad, for now I’ll have more room to tell you what happened as
soon as they saw the nest to which old Hungry Hawk had carried Little
Jack Rabbit.
“There he is,” whispered the Elephant, who had wonderful far-sighted
eyes.
“Where?” asked the little goat in another whisper, only of course it
was much softer than the Elephant’s.
“Don’t you see?” replied the big animal.
“Oh, yes, now I do,” answered the little Mountain Goat. “That is, I
can just see the tips of his ears.”
“Dear me, how can I get over to him without Hungry Hawk seeing me?”
asked the big anxious Elephant.
“Hide behind this rock,” advised the little goat. “I’ll skip about
and maybe Hungry Hawk will go for me. If he does, I’ll jump behind
the rock and you can grab him with your long trunk.”
“Good idea,” laughed the Elephant softly. “You’ve got quite a head
under your horns. Yes, sireebus!”
Then with a gentle shuffle he tip-toed behind the rock and the little
Mountain Goat went skip-toeing, hipperty-hop, over toward the big
nest.
All of a sudden there was a great whirring of wings and up flew
Hungry Hawk, circling just above the little goat, stretching down his
long sharp claws, opening his great bill and clapping it together
with a snap.
“Bleat, bleat!” went the little Mountain Goat, pretending he was
frightened. Then back he turned and skip-toed over to the big rock.
“Ha, ha!” thought Hungry Hawk to himself. “I’ll have a nice tender
little goat for dinner. Little Jack Rabbit is only big enough for
supper.”
Perhaps the little goat heard old Hungry Hawk, for he gave two more
little bleats and hid behind the great big stone.
“Ha, ha!” again laughed Hungry Hawk. “I’ll dash down behind that
rock and grab that little goat before he can wink his left eye three
times!”
Whish, whish! went the big robber bird’s wings, and swish! swish!
went his long tail as he swung around the corner of the big rock.
Then something happened. Oh, my, what a scuffle there was for the
next few minutes! Goodness me! The air was full of funny squawky
noises and feathers were flying here and there and everywhere! For no
sooner had Hungry Hawk flown around the big rock to catch the little
Mountain Goat than the Circus Elephant reached out his long trunk,
catching by the neck that wicked bird before he could turn away.
Goodness me! again. How Hungry Hawk flapped his wings and wiggled
his tail and clawed with his long hooked toes! But that didn’t do a
bit of good. Dear me, no! It only made matters worse, for the harder
he struggled the more the Elephant swung him around until, goodness
knows, he would have lost every feather if he hadn’t begged in a
squeaky, stifled voice to be allowed to sit down and talk matters
over.
“Talk matters over?” grunted the Elephant, holding on to the tip of
the old hawk’s tail, “what’s the use? I’m going to take Little Jack
Rabbit home with me. As for you, I’ve a good notion to whack your
head against the rock till you see stars and comets.”
“Oh, please don’t,” begged Hungry Hawk, “I’ve had enough banging for
a year. I’ll give you Little Jack Rabbit and a cigar coupon if you’ll
let me go.”
“Come along with me till I see if the little bunny is safe and well,”
answered the big circus animal, and he and the little Mountain Goat
walked over to the old hawk’s nest. There stood poor little Jack
Rabbit tied fast to a ring in the big rock. He was so glad to see his
dear friend the Elephant that he almost cried—maybe he did shed a
tear or three and perhaps four.
Well, sir. Troubles weren’t over, just the same. For now they all had
to climb down the high, steep and straight mountain side.
“Get on my back, little bunny,” said the kind Circus Elephant. “I’ll
go down backwards the same as I came up frontwards, only different.”
Then the little Mountain Goat braced his forefeet against the rock
and the big elephant took hold of the lasso, the loop end of which
was over the little goat’s horns, you know, and down the side of
the steep mountain slid the big animal, first one foot, then two,
then three and finally four, and when he reached the end of the rope
he waited for the little Mountain Goat to come down, and then they
started all over again. The little Mountain Goat braced his feet
against the rock and the big elephant took hold of the rope and slid
and slid and scrambled and scrambled, or jiggled and rumbled, down
and down, until he came to the end of the long lasso.
“My goodness meebus, that was a high mountain,” gasped the Circus
Elephant, when at last his hind feet touched the level meadow.
“Really, I thought I’d never get down.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” laughed the little Mountain Goat, shaking his
head till the lasso fell off his horns. “I run up and down sometimes
three times a day.”
“All right, but don’t ask me to,” replied the Elephant. “Although I’d
do it all over again for Little Jack Rabbit’s sake.”
[Illustration: A tiny light appeared in the distance.]
“Oh, won’t I be glad to get home to mother,” sighed the little bunny.
“I was so frightened up there on the mountain top with Hungry Hawk.
Dear, dear me! Have I been dreaming?”
“No, not this time,” answered the big circus animal. “But, cheer
up! I’ll take you home in a jiffy,” and saying good-by to the little
Mountain Goat he trotted off at a rapid rate.
By and by it grew dark. Oh, yes, very dark. You couldn’t see your
hand behind your face. So the Circus Elephant stopped to think what
was best to do. He was afraid, you see, that he might bump into
something or other or be arrested by the Policeman Dog. One can never
tell on a dark night what may happen.
Pretty soon a tiny light appeared in the distance. Then it came
nearer and nearer, but never growing much larger. Wasn’t that strange
and queer?
“My tiny lantern in the dark
Throws just a little twinkle spark.
But maybe it will help you see
Danny Fox behind a tree,”
cried a little voice.
And that’s just what it did, for the little firefly swung her tiny
lantern to and fro until the big elephant said all of a sudden:
“I see him!” Which so frightened the old robber that he turned and
fled.
“Go ahead, little firefly. I’ll follow if you don’t go out,” went on
the big brave circus animal.
“Never fear,” answered the little firefly. “I have a tiny electric
bulb in my lantern. You don’t think I use a flickery candle, do you?”
“Bend your head or maybe you’ll be brushed off my back,” warned the
Circus Elephant, following the tiny light. So Little Jack Rabbit lay
flat down on the big animal’s back and away they went through the
darkness, in and out among the forest trees, while Billy Breeze sang
a sleepy song about rocking chairs and tick-tocky clocks and tired
feet and little pink socks.
BUNNY TALE 12
THE RESCUE
The Firefly with her little light
Went twinkling through the quiet night.
In and out among the trees
She fluttered ’neath the whispering leaves,
Until at last with wondrous sense
She lighted on the Old Rail Fence.
“Here we are,” exclaimed the Circus Elephant, taking down the bars
and stepping into the Sunny Meadow, “here we are, safe home at last.”
But Little Jack Rabbit never answered a word.
“He must be asleep,” thought the kind Circus Elephant. “I won’t wake
him up,” and off he trotted to the Old Bramble Patch. There stood
Lady Love and Mr. Rabbit at the gate, anxiously waiting for the
return of their little bunny son.
“Here he is,” laughed the big animal.
“Where?” asked Lady Love.
“Why, on my back, of course,” answered the Circus Elephant.
“I don’t see him,” said Mr. Rabbit.
“Nor I,” cried Lady Love, tearfully.
“Not on my back?” shouted the big kind circus beast, stretching
around his big trunk to feel behind his great ears. But the little
rabbit wasn’t there.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” cried Lady Love, “he’s lost.”
“Don’t cry,” begged Mr. Rabbit. “We’ll find him, never fear,” and
hopping back into the little bungalow, he came out in a minute or two
with a lantern. At once they all set out for the Shady Forest. All of
a sudden Old Barney Owl tooted his horn.
“I don’t like that,” cried Mr. Rabbit; “owls are fond of little
rabbits.”
“Come on, let’s run,” whispered the big Elephant. “Maybe we can scare
the old bird,” and off he trotted at a rapid rate, the little bunnies
hopping along, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, and the big circus
animal bumperty bump, bumperty bump on his four large feet.
Pretty soon again from a big tall tree sounded the old owl’s toot!
toot! toot! Quick as a wink the Circus Elephant pushed his trunk up
into the branches and the next minute down came Old Barney Owl. The
Elephant, you see, had grabbed him before he could fly away.
“What have you done with Little Jack Rabbit?” he asked, shaking the
old bird until his teeth—I beg pardon, I mean his feathers—almost
fell out.
“Oh, please don’t shake me till I’m blue
And lose my feather whiskers, too,”
Cried Barney Owl, all out of breath,
And frightened nearly half to death.
“I haven’t done anything with him.”
“Yes, you have,” shouted the two little rabbits.
“Of course you have,” said the elephant, “now confess.”
But Old Barney Owl answered: “No, no, no! I haven’t even seen Little
Jack Rabbit!”
“Well, you come along and help us find him,” said the Circus
Elephant, and off they started again, the two little bunnies ahead,
then the big Elephant and Old Barney Owl.
By and by whom should they meet but Old Man Weasel. He tried not to
show himself, but before the old four-footed, tip-toey thief could
hide he was made to answer a lot of questions.
“What have you done with Little Jack Rabbit?” asked the big Circus
Elephant.
“What have you done with our little son?” demanded Mr. Rabbit and
Lady Love.
“I haven’t seen him,” answered Old Man Weasel.
“Are you telling the truth?” asked the Elephant.
“I certainly am,” answered the old weasel. “I wouldn’t be hanging
around here if I had caught a nice fat little bunny.”
“Well, you come along with us. That will keep you out of mischief.
When we’ve found Little Jack Rabbit you can go home to your wife,”
answered the big Elephant.
So off again started the party, Old Barney Owl ahead, next the two
little rabbits, then the big Elephant and Old Man Weasel.
All of a sudden, just like that, there sounded a mournful howl. Oh,
dear me! but it was a hair-raising, teeth-chattering, goosey-flesh
kind of a cry.
“What’s that?” asked Lady Love, with a shiver.
“Mr. Wicked Wolf,” replied the big Elephant, with a loud trumpet. At
once Mr. Wicked Wolf answered with a dismal howl. Then the Elephant
trumpeted again.
“Mr. Wicked Wolf has a dismal howl
And a big red mouth and an angry scowl,
His teeth are long and sharp and thin,
Oh, your knees knock together when you see him grin,”
whispered Old Barney Owl, as a dark shadow crept in and out among the
trees.
“What have you done with Little Jack Rabbit?” demanded the big Circus
Elephant.
“I haven’t seen him,” answered Mr. Wicked Wolf.
“Yes, you have,” cried Lady Love.
“What do you know about it?” snarled the old wolf. “If the big
Elephant weren’t around I’d make you keep quiet.”
“That’s enough,” said the Elephant, reaching out his trunk to tweak
Mr. Wicked Wolf’s ear. “Don’t get gay around here. You come along and
help find the little rabbit. You’ll be out of mischief while with us
and if we don’t find him pretty soon, I’ll put you and Old Man Weasel
and Old Barney Owl in a big bag and shake you up and down and all
around till your bones rattle!”
Then off again started the party, Old Barney Owl in the lead, Mr.
Wicked Wolf and Old Man Weasel next, then Mr. Rabbit and Lady Love,
and last of all, the big Circus Elephant. Every once in a while he’d
swing his long lasso, cow-boy fashion, around Mr. Wicked Wolf, or
pull up Old Man Weasel with a sharp jerk. And now and then, so’s not
to let Old Barney Owl feel lonesome, he’d drop the noose around that
old night bird’s head and yank him over backwards. This kept these
three bad people mighty well behaved, let me tell you, while looking
for Little Jack Rabbit—or pretending to look for him.
All of a sudden Danny Fox was seen sneaking behind a pile of brush.
“Come here, you old chicken thief,” shouted the Elephant, and without
waiting for the old fox to decide whether he would or not, the big
Elephant threw the lasso over his head, pulling him in as nicely as
you please.
“Tell me what you’ve done with Little Jack Rabbit?” demanded the big
circus animal, giving the rope a jerk to make the old fox answer
quickly.
“I haven’t seen him,” replied Danny Fox, with a whine. “I haven’t
seen him for a long time.”
“Yes, you have,” shouted the two little rabbits.
“What have you done with Little Jack Rabbit?” once more demanded the
Elephant, although he’d already twice asked Danny Fox that very same
question.
“I haven’t seen the little bunny,” again whined the old fox, “indeed,
I am telling the truth.”
[Illustration: “What’s that?” asked Lady Love.]
“You never told the truth in your life,” cried the big Elephant.
“You’re an old chicken thief!”
“Please, please, don’t jerk that rope,” begged Danny Fox. “It hurts
my neck.”
“Well, come along with us,” said the big circus animal, “you may help
us find Little Jack Rabbit. At any rate, we’ll know where you are,”
and he made the old fox join the party.
By and by, after a while, as they marched through the Shady Forest,
looking here and peeking there, up and down and all around, they
heard a little voice say;
“I know where Little Jack Rabbit is.”
“Where?” cried Lady Love.
“Where?” shouted Mr. Rabbit.
“Tell us quick,” cried the big Circus Elephant, holding up his ears
to catch the faint whisper.
Then the little voice came again, only a little louder than before.
“Over there by the Bubbling Brook,
Where it turns and twists in the shady nook,
Caught in between two little trees,
Little Jack Rabbit is held by the knees.”
“Thank you, little voice,” cried Lady Love, and away she hopped to
the shady nook, followed by Mr. Rabbit and the rest—only the rest
didn’t hop, they all ran, except Old Barney Owl, who flew.
Pretty soon, not so very far, they reached the Bubbling Brook and,
following it along, they hurried on until, all of a sudden, they
heard Little Jack Rabbit calling for help.
“Cheer up, my baby rabbit,” shouted Lady Love.
Goodness me! how fast Lady Love hopped along until, quicker than a
wink, she came to the two little trees.
“Oh, my little bunny,” she sobbed. “Are you hurt?”
“Maybe,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’m not quite sure.”
Just then up came the big Circus Elephant. Bending apart the two
trees with his great strong trunk, he shouted:
“Pull him out! pull him out!”
But Little Jack Rabbit didn’t need any help. No, sireemam. No sooner
were the trees pushed apart than out he hopped all by himself right
into Lady Love’s arms. And I guess that’s the nicest place to be when
you’re hurt—right in mother’s arms.
“Now all you old robbers can go home,” said the big circus animal.
“Good-by,” said Old Man Weasel.
“Good-by,” cried Mr. Wicked Wolf.
“So long,” whined Danny Fox.
“Tooty fruiti!” cried Old Barney Owl, and the next minute there was
no one left but the three little rabbits and the big Circus Elephant.
“Come here,” said the big kind animal and carefully picking up Little
Jack Rabbit with his strong trunk, lifted him up on his back.
“Now we’ll go home to the Old Bramble Patch,” and off he trotted,
followed by Mr. Rabbit and Lady Love.
By and by, after a while, and many a mile, they came to the Rail
Fence. Crossing the Sunny Meadow, although of course it wasn’t sunny
at this hour—night time, you know,—they soon reached the Old Bramble
Patch.
“Oh, I’m so happy,” laughed Lady Love, as the big elephant placed her
little rabbit on the ground, “I’m so happy I don’t know how to thank
you.”
“Don’t,” replied the big kind animal. “Just let me know the next time
you bake an Angel Cake—that’s all,” and off he trotted to the Shady
Forest.
“Good-by, old friend,” called Mr. Rabbit.
“I’ll see you all again,” replied the Elephant. “But I must hurry,
for to-morrow the circus closes in Turnip City, and I must be there
to help take down the big tent.”
It wasn’t long before all three little bunnies were sound asleep. Mr.
Rabbit and Lady Love were tired out from their long search and Little
Jack Rabbit,—well, he was tired and sleepy, anyway, as all small
bunnies should be.
BUNNY TALE 13
DANNY FOX
“Wake up, wake up, it’s breakfast time!
The Old Red Rooster is crowing a rime,
The doves on the roof are cooing away
And Bobbie Redvest is singing his lay,”
sang the musical alarm clock.
Out of bed hopped Little Jack Rabbit and parting his hair down the
middle of his back with a little chip, picked up his knapsack and
hurried down to the breakfast table.
Lady Love’s carrot coffee and lollypop porridge soon made the little
bunny lose his appetite. Wasn’t that too bad? Well, I don’t know. I’d
gladly lose my appetite for lollypop stew.
“Where’s father?” he asked, wiping his lips on a nice clean lettuce
leaf napkin.
“Down at the Post Office,” answered his pretty mother. “He said for
you to stay near the Old Bramble Patch until he got back.”
“All right,” answered the good little bunny. “May I go now, mother
dear?”
“Have you polished the front doorknob and fed the canary and filled
the woodbox?” she asked, with a smile. I guess she knew the little
rabbit had forgotten all about his daily morning duties.
“Dear, dear, I forgot,” cried the little bunny and, picking up the
box of brass polish and a rag, he set to work on the doorknob. Pretty
soon it looked like a golden ball under the bright beams of Mr. Merry
Sun. Perhaps he thought he’d help the little rabbit. Who knows!
Next the bunny boy fed the pretty canary in her little gold cage,
which hung in the kitchen during the winter, but when the days grew
warm and bright, on the front porch. After her tiny cup was filled
with birdseed the little bunny hopped out to the woodpile.
“Hello, there,” said the Old Red Rooster, whom Uncle Lucky had sent
over to spade the kitchen garden and plant the vegetables, “how’s
Little Jack Rabbit this morning?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” answered the little bunny, picking up the hoe
which the old fowl had left by the flower-bed. “I’m all right and I’m
all glad and I’m fond of my mother and my dad.”
“Whoa, there, Mr. Rabbit Poet!” cried the Old Red Rooster. “How do
you get that way?”
“I’ve been reading a poetry book,” answered the little bunny, handing
a rose to Lady Love, who at that moment hopped out to the garden.
Pretty soon she went back in the kitchen. It’s mighty lucky that she
did, for just then, all of a sudden, something happened. And it would
have been quite dreadful if the Old Red Rooster hadn’t given a timely
warning. Yes, sir, if, right then he hadn’t hollered “Look out!”
there would be little use in my putting it in now.
The moment the little bunny heard the warning he hopped through the
window, quick as a wink. And it was mighty lucky that he did, for
right there under the trees stood Danny Fox.
“Good morning,” he said, with a smile. But it didn’t look like a
smile to Little Jack Rabbit. Oh, dear, no! It looked like a great big
white-toothed grin. That’s what it did, and I guess the little bunny
was right.
“I think it’s a bad morning,” replied Little Jack Rabbit. “You’ve
changed everything.”
“Don’t say that,” whined Danny Fox. “What makes you so unfriendly?”
“Never you mind, you old robber,” shouted the Old Red Rooster from
the top of the woodshed, on which he had taken refuge.
“Oh, you’re around,” snarled Danny Fox. “I thought you were working
for Uncle Lucky Lefthindfoot, the old gentleman rabbit.”
“Well, you’ve got another think,” replied the Old Red Rooster, “and
if you don’t get out of here I’ll send a wireless message to the
Policeman Dog to put you in jail.”
“Yes, you will,” sneered the old fox. “How are you going to send a
message, I’d like to know.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the Old Red Rooster, with a jump and a big flap of
his wings. And, would you believe it! he flew from the woodshed right
over to the roof of the cowshed next the Little Red Barn! Then up he
jumped to the little window overhead. That’s what he did, the wise
old fowl.
“I wonder what he’s going to do?” thought Danny Fox, beginning to
grow uneasy. “I wonder what he’s up to?” and again the old fox looked
here and there, fearing some trick was to be sprung upon him.
[Illustration: “I won’t hop out till Danny Fox goes home.”]
“Cock-a-doodle do!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Red Rooster.
“What do you want?” asked Lady Love, looking out of the attic window.
But on seeing Danny Fox she almost fainted.
“Don’t worry, mother,” cried Little Jack Rabbit. “I’m safe in the
kitchen. I won’t hop out till Danny Fox goes home.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed that old robber, “maybe I’ll wait here till the 4th
of July.”
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” cried the little rabbit’s mother, anxiously,
“please go away, Danny Fox.”
“No, siree!” answered that wicked animal. “I shall stay right here
for a year and a day, and maybe I’ll never go away.”
Now wasn’t that a dreadful thing to hear? Well, I guess it was. But
just you wait a minute. I think the Old Red Rooster up in the loft of
the Little Red Barn will do something, and do it mighty quick, let me
tell you.
“Hello, hello!” he shouted, all of a sudden, just like that, from the
tiny window of the Little Red Barn.
“I’m listening,” answered Lady Love from the attic.
“I hear you,” called out Little Jack Rabbit from the kitchen. But
Danny Fox didn’t say a word.
“Something’s going to happen in a minute,” shouted the Old Red
Rooster. “Yes, sireebus, something’s going to happen!”
“I wonder what?” thought Danny Fox, looking this way and that way and
every other way. But he saw nothing, except the grass waving in the
Sunny Meadow and the treetops bending in the Shady Forest.
Pretty soon he looked up at Lady Love, then at the Old Red Rooster.
What were they doing? And why was the Old Red Rooster waving his
pocket handkerchief? And why was Lady Love nodding her head?
“Dear, dear!” thought the old fox, “are they crazy?”
Just then, all of a sudden, just like that, quicker than bills on
the first of the month, over the Old Rail Fence jumped the Policeman
Dog, the Yellow Dog Tramp, the Stagecoach Dog Driver, the Billy Goat
Ferryman, the Big Brown Bear and dear Uncle Lucky, the old gentleman
rabbit.
“O-o-o-o!” whined Danny Fox, looking for a way to escape. By the
woodpile stood the Policeman Dog, a few feet away the Yellow Dog
Tramp, over by the Little Red Barn the Stagecoach Dog; by the kitchen
door the Billy Goat Ferryman, at the Old Rail Fence the Big Brown
Bear and a few hops away, dear Uncle Lucky.
“O-o-o-o,” again whined Danny Fox. He felt something was going to
happen to him. He knew the Policeman Dog, the Yellow Dog Tramp, the
Stagecoach Dog Driver, the Billy Goat Ferryman, the Big Brown Bear
and dear Uncle Lucky, the old gentleman bunny, hadn’t jumped over the
Old Rail Fence for fun, but he didn’t know that the Old Red Rooster
had sent for them on the radio.
Yes, siree, something was, and is, going to happen to that dreadful
fox, for, quick as a wink, they all closed in on him and before he
could say a word or two or three, but no more, the Policeman Dog
snapped a pair of handcuffs over his front paws.
“Now, old Danny Fox, you’ll go
To jail in just a minute,
And there you’ll stay for many a day
Securely locked up in it,”
sang the Policeman Dog, swinging his club up and down just like the
leader of the orchestra in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”
“I hope you’ll keep him there for even longer,” said the old
gentleman bunny. “He’s always after Little Jack Rabbit and me. Just
the other day he nearly caught up to the Luckymobile. If he had, he
would have bitten the tires.”
“He’s forever hanging around the ferryslip, waiting for a chance
to grab Grandmother Goose on her way home,” said the Billy Goat
Ferryman. “I never cross the river in my ferryboat but what I see him
sneaking along the shore.”
“He’s always trying to hold-up my stagecoach and rob the passengers,”
cried the Old Dog Driver, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “Only
last week a little pig passenger nearly died of fright when he
pointed his pistol at her.”
“He’s a bad lot,” said the Yellow Dog Tramp. “I often see him
stealing chickens from the farmyards.”
“He’d better keep away from my Cozy Cave,” growled the Big Brown
Bear. “If I ever catch him stealing lollypops I’ll break every bone
in his body.”
“Do you hear what they say about you?” asked the Policeman Dog,
giving Danny Fox a good shake.
“Please let me go,” begged the old fox, “I’ve two little boys at
home who will miss Daddy Fox if he isn’t home for supper.”
“Let him go,” begged the tender-hearted little bunny, “Bushytail and
Slyboots will miss him so. They think he’s a lovely father.”
“Well, what do you say?” asked the Policeman Dog, turning to Uncle
Lucky.
“Oh, let me go home to my den in the rocks,
Bushytail will be watching for me,
And Slyboots will stand at the old kitchen door
While Mrs. Fox puts on the tea.
The red table cloth will be spread nice and smooth,
The platters, all shiny and white.
Oh, what will they do with the nice oyster stew
If Daddy Fox comes not to-night?”
cried Danny Fox, tears falling from his eyes, as the Policeman
Dog waited for Uncle Lucky’s answer.
“Oh, pshaw,” cried dear kind Uncle Lucky, “let him
go.”
“I say so, too,” said the Yellow Dog Tramp. “That
song reminds me of one my dear old mother used to sing
before I left the farm to become a hobo doggie.”
“Maybe from now on he’ll behave,” cried the Billy
Goat Ferryman. “I have two little kids. I know how
they’d feel if their daddy didn’t come home.”
“Give the old fox another chance,” said the Old Dog
Stagecoach Driver. “I remember my two little bow-wows.
We had a nice home in the country.”
“I feel the same as you fellows,” cried the Big Brown
Bear. “My two little cubs waited every night for me to
tell them a bedtime story. They’re now in the circus, but
I always think of them as little fellows. Let the old fox
go for the sake of his two little boys.”
“Do you hear what they all say?” asked the Policeman
Dog.
“Yes,” whined Danny Fox, and away he ran as soon
as the Policeman Dog took off the handcuffs.
“Perhaps he’ll behave for a while,” said the Old Red
Rooster, flying down from the hayloft. “But it’s lucky
for Little Jack Rabbit that I could call you all on the wireless.
Maybe that isn’t a wonderful invention.”
“Come in and have some carrot cake and turnip tea,”
begged Lady Love, hopping out on the kitchen porch.
Pretty soon as they all sat around the table having a
fine feast, the Yellow Tramp Dog stood up on his hind
legs and barked, oh, so softly:
“I’d go back to my boyhood day
If I only knew the by-gone way.
But I have changed since the Long Ago,
With the summer wind and the winter snow,
And my feet just miss the dear old lane
Where the robin sings his sweet refrain,
And the apple blossoms, white and pink,
Fall in the nest of Bob-o-Link.”
Some day, dear boys and girls, I shall write a story
about the Yellow Dog Tramp. He just sort of rubs his
nose against my knee as I write these stories. Yes, he
looks up at me with big brown eyes that seem to say:
“Tell the children to be kind to yellow dogs.”
Dear children, never, never sling
A stone at any living thing.
The little bird that swiftly flies
Up in the country of the skies,
The friendly tabby cat that purrs
And humps that glossy back of hers,
The patient horse that draws the plough,
The ever-generous mooley cow,
Are all kind friends to you and me,
Created by God’s charity.
BUNNY TALE 14
UNCLE LUCKY’S DREAM
Oh, what shall I sing this lovely spring
When all the sky’s aglow
With the sun’s gold tint and the pure white glint
Of clouds like drifts of snow.
“Well, well, well,” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky with a sigh, laying
down his book, “that is a beautiful poem.” Pushing his spectacles
back on his forehead, he was just about to sigh again when the
telephone rang, One, two, three! Jingle, jingle, jingle!
“Who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself, taking up the receiver.
“Hello, hello! Who’s calling me?
“This is Rabbitville, one, two, three.”
“Mr. Grizzly Bear is talking,” answered a deep, growly voice.
“Well, I don’t care if he stops,” replied brave Uncle Lucky, “I don’t
want to speak to him.”
“But he wants to talk to you!” answered the deep, growly voice.
“Dear Little Miss Mousie,” sighed Uncle Lucky, “why do disagreeable
people call me on the ’phone? Why don’t they call up the Policeman
Dog? Please lock the kitchen door.” And the poor old gentleman
rabbit gave a great big sigh and, hanging up the receiver, hopped
quickly around the house to lock every window, pulling down the
shades and then stuffing up the fireplace with sofa cushions.
[Illustration: “I don’t want to speak to him.”]
“Now I guess nobody’ll get in,” he said, seating himself by the
pianola. All of a sudden it began to play;
“Oh, the Grizzly Bear is a dreadful beast,
His claws are sharp and long,
And he gives a tug and then a hug
While he sings a grizzly song;
“‘Oh, I’m the beast with the terrible hug,
G-r-r-r, g-r-r-r-r, G-R-R-R-R!
I can break a stone and crack a bone
And crumple a cracker jar!’”
“Goodness me!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hopping up. “It’s bad enough
to have a Grizzly Bear call you on the ’phone, but to listen to
a Grizzly Bear song on the pianola is too, too much,” and the
dis-tract-ed old gentleman rabbit hopped upstairs to his bedroom and
looked out of the window.
“Tooty fruiti!” shouted Old Barney Owl, just like that, so
frightening poor Uncle Lucky that he closed the window with a bang
and hopped into bed. But, dear me! again. No sooner had he pulled the
coverlet up to his chin and tucked his long gray whiskers in, than a
dreadful knocking shook the door and rattled the carpet tacks in the
floor!
“Goodness gracious meebus!” whispered the old gentleman rabbit under
his breath and under the crazyquilt over his head as he cuddled down
tight in his old wooden bed.
Again some one knocked on the door so hard that the doorknob came off
and fell in the yard.
“Who can that be? What shall I do? I’m afraid to open the door and
I’m afraid not to. Which is the worst to do, for whatever I do, it
will be that, all right, and all wrong!”
“Make believe there’s no one home,
Stay in bed and do not roam
On your tiptoe ’round the house;
Keep as quiet as a mouse,”
whispered a little voice.
“Who gives me such good advice?” asked the old gentleman rabbit in a
trembly whisper.
“Little Miss Mousie,” replied the tiny voice. “I crept out of my
house and up the stairs to tell you to make believe you’re not at
home.”
“You’re a good little friend,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“You’re a good big friend,” laughed Little Miss Mousie, only very
low, of course. “You let me stay all winter in the woodbox by the
warm stove. You never charge me any rent and never let me spend a
cent, you give me lollypops to eat and satin slippers for my feet.”
“Do I really? I forgot all about the slippers, I declare,” cried the
old gentleman rabbit, scratching his left hind ear with his right
hind foot. “Maybe I’m growing old and full of forgetfulness,” and he
sighed twice, and maybe three times more.
Just then the knocking came again, and this time louder than the last
time, and twice as loud as the first.
“Keep your temper,” whispered the little mouse.
“I guess that’s the only thing I’ve got left,” cried poor Uncle
Lucky. “I’ve lost my wits—I declare, I don’t know what to do.”
“Don’t do anything,” advised the little mouse, “that’s what you
agreed to do just a minute ago.”
But goodness me! as she finished speaking there arose a dreadful
commotion in the backyard of Uncle Lucky’s little white house. Dear
me, it was tornadeous and hurricaneous.
Please excuse me a moment. There’s so much noise I can’t even think
what might happen if the Policeman Dog doesn’t arrive pretty soon and
swing his club three or four times.
There it goes! Yes, sir, I thought I’d hear it soon, if not before.
Yes, it’s the Policeman Dog’s whistle.
Out of his nice warm bed jumped Uncle Lucky and over to the window.
The moonlight shone in like an automobile lamp, almost blinding
Little Miss Mousie by the door. For a moment it made the dear old
gentleman rabbit wink his eyes and blink his nose.
“Goodness gracious meebus! What is that big black shadow under the
trees?” he whispered.
Then all of a sudden, the whistle sounded again, only this time way
off down the road.
“What is the matter?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, his legs
trembling so that his pajamas wrinkled at the knees. “What is the
matter, and what is that dark shadow under the trees, and why is the
Policeman Dog whistling down the road? Why doesn’t he whistle under
my window and make me feel comfortable?”
But no one answered him. Not even Little Miss Mousie, for she had
hopped down to the kitchen to peek out under the door. Pretty soon
the sound of the whistle came again, this time a little bit louder.
After another minute or two, it sounded again, only fainter.
[Illustration: Danny Fox in the patrol wagon.]
“Dear, dear me, I’m so sorry for myself,” cried the poor old
gentleman rabbit. “All this mystery is turning my hair white. What
shall I do?”
“I’ve caught him! I’ve caught him!” all of a sudden a voice shouted,
and the next minute into the yard ran the Policeman Dog with Danny
Fox by the collar.
“Here’s the robber who knocked on your front door,” cried the noble
police dog.
“Put him in jail for a century!” shouted Uncle Lucky from his bedroom
window. “I want my great, great, great, great grandchildren never to
be annoyed by this old robber!”
“I’ll speak to the Judge about it,” answered the faithful Policeman
Dog, as he drove away with Danny Fox in the patrol wagon.
“Oh, I’m so relieved,” sighed the old gentleman rabbit, “I’ll now go
back to bed and sleep till the little green rooster toots his horn at
half past three to-morrow morn,” and, hopping into his pink pajamas,
he pulled the crazy quilt up to his chin and tucked his whiskers
snugly in.
Well, sir, and well, m’am. No sooner was the old gentleman rabbit
sound asleep than the Dream Fairy looked in at the window.
“I must give Uncle Lucky a pretty dream,” and softly flying in, she
lighted on the foot of the bed. Taking from her little Vanity Bag a
blue rose she waved it to and fro, back and forth and up and down,
till Uncle Lucky began to dream.
And what a lovely dream! Just wait till I tell it to you, dear boys
and girls, for maybe when he wakes up he’ll forget all about it, as
some people do, even as you and I.
The dear old gentleman rabbit dreamed that he was a boy again,
playing marbles with Uncle John Hare when, dearest me and dearest
you! along came Mrs. Wild Cat.
“Meow, meow, meow!” she said. “Let me play with you.”
Uncle John Hare looked at Uncle Lucky, and then they both looked at
the Wild Cat. But what was the use of looking at her, or at each
other, or at anything, for that matter. Goodness me! they were so
frightened that their knees played tick tock, tick tock, and their
hair stood up straight, and if ever there were two scared little
rabbits, it was Uncle John and Uncle Lucky.
“What’s the matter with you two bunnies?” asked Mrs. Wild Cat. “Come,
give me a shooter.”
“Here, here’s—one!” gasped Uncle John.
“You—can—have—mine,” faltered Uncle Lucky, “I’m tired. My thumb’s
sore.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” meowed Mrs. Wild Cat. “Come on and play!”
But, oh, dear me! The two poor little bunnies missed every time and
as Mrs. Wild Cat won every time, pretty soon she had all the marbles,
as well as Uncle Lucky’s little bag and Uncle John’s little box.
“What else have you?” asked the purring Wild Cat.
“Nothing,” answered the bunny boy rabbits, “nothing, only a piece of
chocolate cake and a lollypop.”
“Give them to me,” said the purring Wild Cat!
So what could each little bunny boy do but put his hand in his pocket
and slowly draw out, Uncle John, the cake, and Uncle Lucky, the
lollypop.
“Ha, ha, meow!” cried Mrs. Wild Cat, “don’t they look good. I love
chocolate cake and lollypops, ice cream cones and pink gumdrops.”
“Please don’t take everything we have,” cried Uncle Lucky, tearfully.
“Give us back our marbles,” begged Uncle John Hare, with a sob.
“No, I want to take them home to my little kittens,” answered Mrs.
Wild Cat, reaching out her paw for the lollypop.
“Wait just a minute, the stick has come out,” begged Uncle Lucky,
leaning over to pick up the candy part. All of a sudden, just like
that, he struck out with his strong hind feet, throwing the loose
dirt into Mrs. Wild Cat’s eyes, and before she could open them the
little rabbits had hopped into a hollow stump.
“Meow, meow! Just wait till I wipe my eyes. I’ll show you what I’ll
do,” Mrs. Wild Cat screamed.
But, wasn’t it lucky? by that time the two little bunnies had found
a tunnel leading away from the hollow stump. On and on they hopped
until by and by, after a while, they found themselves out on the
Sunny Meadow.
“Whew, I’m glad to be rid of that dreadful cat,” exclaimed Uncle
Lucky.
“So am I,” said Uncle John Hare. “But, dear me! we’ve lost our
marbles!”
Just then who should come along but Sic’em, the farmer’s dog. Of
course in those days, when Uncle Lucky was a little boy and Uncle
John Hare only a week older, Sic’em was a young dog. Oh, my, yes!
And could run so fast that often his shadow was left a mile behind
him!
“Bow, wow, now I’ll catch you two little rabbits,” he barked,
when—wasn’t it a relief? the old gentleman rabbit woke up with a
start to find that he had been dreaming. But he didn’t see the Dream
Fairy as she flew out of the window. No, siree! Dear Uncle Lucky was
hardly wide awake enough for that!
BUNNY TALE 15
THE RADIO STORY
“Well, well, well!” said Uncle Lucky, rubbing his eyes, “that was
a queer dream. The idea of my dreaming I was a boy again, playing
marbles with Uncle John Hare,” and, with a laugh, the old gentleman
bunny jumped out of bed to look out of the window. It was early
morning and the sky was pink and purple, yellow and red. The dew was
sparkling on the grass and the trees were whispering to one another.
All of a sudden “Cock-a-doodle-do!” went the Old Red Rooster over by
the barn. And then a robin began to sing and a little squirrel to
scamper over the grass.
“Heigh ho!” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky, “what a beautiful world. I
must hurry down to my breakfast and then go for Little Jack Rabbit.
He should be vaccinated. Maybe I’d better call up Dr. Quack, the
famous duck doctor, to find out when he can see us.”
“Hello, Central, hurry, please,
Something’s going to make me sneeze.
Who has filled with pepper up
The little rubber talking cup?”
Ker-choo! ker-choo! went the dear old gentleman rabbit, and before he
could get out his lovely blue silk polkadot handkerchief somebody
laughed outside the window.
[Illustration: “This is Station ABC”]
“Who’s laughing at me?” asked the ex-as-per-a-ted—which means, dear
littlest reader, teased nearly to death—old gentleman bunny, “and who
put pepper in my telephone, I want to know?”
“Ha, ha! ha! ha!” laughed the voice again, just outside the sitting
room window.
With a hop, skip and a jump across the nice rag carpet hopped the
dear old bunny to peek through the curtain. There on the porch rail
sat Jimmy Jay, the mischievous bird boy.
“Ha, ha! ha, ha!” he went again, throwing his head first to one side
and then to the other, “Ha, ha! ha, ha!”
“Get off my porch,” shouted dear Uncle Lucky, “you bad, mischievous,
sneak of a bird boy. Why don’t you play nice games instead of mean
jokes? Get off my porch or I’ll do something to you,” and Uncle Lucky
hopped back across the hall and opened the front door with a swing.
Away flew naughty Jimmy Jay like a flash of blue through the leaves.
“Ha, ha! ha, ha!” he laughed, “how peppery we are!”
“Good gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman bunny, “that bird
boy is a bad one. If he doesn’t mend his ways I shall report him to
the Policeman Dog. What right has he to come into my house and play
such a trick on me?”
Dear Uncle Lucky was so provoked with Jimmy Jay that he almost forgot
to call up Dr. Quack. But as soon as the mischievous bluebird was
out of sight the kind old gentleman suddenly remembered and, hopping
over to the telephone, shouted:
“One, two, three, S. O. S.
Who is calling? Can’t you guess?”
“No, who is it?” answered a voice.
“Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot. My nephew, Little Jack Rabbit, should be
vaccinated. Can you come over to the Old Bramble Patch at once?”
“In about fifteen minutes,” replied the famous duck doctor.
Hanging up the receiver, Uncle Lucky hopped out to the garage and,
cranking the Luckymobile, started off for the Sunny Meadow.
By and by, after a while, but not quite a mile, he came to the dear
Old Bramble Patch, in the center of which safe and secure stood the
little bungalow in which Little Jack Rabbit lived with Lady Love, his
bunny mother.
“Honk, honk!” went the Luckymobile horn, and the next minute out
hopped Little Jack Rabbit.
“Has Dr. Quack been here?” asked the old gentleman bunny, taking out
his gold watch and chain.
“He just left,” answered his bunny nephew. “He vaccinated me. Mother
gave me a carrot cent afterwards to buy a lollypop with ’cause I
didn’t make a fuss.”
“You’re a good bunny boy,” said Uncle Lucky, patting the little
rabbit’s ears. “Let’s hop in to see mother.”
Side by side the little rabbit boy and the dear old gentleman bunny
hopped along the path through the thick brambles until they reached
the little bungalow. On the back porch sat Lady Love, the little
rabbit’s mother, shelling peas.
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “how busy we are! And how
pretty we look in the blue apron and string of red beads!” Sitting
down on the step, the old gentleman bunny filled his old corncob pipe
with cabbage leaf tobacco and smoked away to his heart’s content.
By and by the little rabbit grew restless. “Let’s listen in on the
radio,” he suggested, tickling dear Uncle Lucky’s ear.
“Come along,” answered the obliging old gentleman rabbit, hopping
into the sitting room.
Professor Crow was just announcing to his radio audience that “This
is Station ABC, Old Crow County, Tall Pine Tree. The first number on
our program is David Cory, the Jack Rabbit Man, who will tell his
famous Little Jack Rabbit stories to the furry and feather-coated
people of the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow. Tune in and let us know
how the story is going over. Step into the Hollow Stump Telephone
Booth and call us up: ‘One, three, five, Sakes Alive; Pine Tree Top,
Lollypop! Here is Uncle Dave.’”
“Hello! boys and girls. Guess where I am. Maybe I’d better tell you
before you grow tired thinking of a million different places. I’m
up in Professor Crow’s tall Pine Tree House. He has asked me to
broadcast a Little Jack Rabbit story. Isn’t that a compliment? Well,
I just guess yes three times and a half. But, dear me! It’s some
job to climb a tall pine house. I’m not as young as I used to be,
but now that I’m up at the top and have brushed off my trousers and
straightened my tie I’ll tell you something nice and true, for it’s
pretty up here under the blue and sunny sky with Merry Sun winking
his big gold eye.
“Goodness me! dear boys and girls, there goes the telephone bell and
Squirrel Nutcracker’s voice is shouting over the wire: ‘Ask Mr. Cory
to put me in the story.’
“‘All right,’ promised Professor Crow, but before I could broadcast a
word the bell rang again.
“‘Busy Beaver talking,’ came over the wire. ‘Ask David Cory to say
something about me.’
“‘All righto,’ answered the old crow, hanging up. But jingle, jingle,
tinkle, tink went the bell before I could wink.
“‘This is the Big Brown Bear talking. Ask David Cory to put me in the
story,’ I heard him say, and then Professor Crow answered, ‘I’ll see
what I can do.’
“‘Hurry up and commence,’ said the worried old black bird, turning to
me. Again tinkerly tink, jingerly jell went that dreadful telephone
bell, and Granddaddy Bullfrog begged to have me mention him over the
wire.
“‘All righto, Mr. Bullfrog,’ answered Professor Crow, but even before
he had hung up the receiver, Chippy Chipmunk was requesting that I
say ‘Hello’ to him.
“‘Goodness me!’ said Professor Crow, ‘if they keep this up there’ll
be no story at all.’
“‘Never mind,’ I answered, ‘I’ll just say hello to everybody. Next
Thursday will be time enough for a story.’”
All of a sudden the little rabbit shouted, “He just said hello to
me!” and the next minute, “He just said hello to you!”
“Did he?” asked dear Uncle Lucky. “Well, that is kind of him,” and as
the radio talk was now over the two bunnies hopped into the kitchen.
“What have you for supper?” asked dear Uncle Lucky.
“Stewed lollypops!” answered busy Lady Love, placing a steaming dish
upon the table. “Nice fresh lollypops. The Big Brown Bear was here
yesterday.”
“Did he ask for me?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“To be sure,” replied Lady Love, “I told him that Uncle Lucky was
coming to-day.”
“Yes, I’ll stay here for a while,” laughed the old gentleman bunny,
picking up a big juicy yellow lollypop by the stick, just the way
people eat asparagus. But, oh, dear me! down ran the juice all over
his nice clean napkin. Wasn’t that a shame?
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “that was a very
ripe lollypop!”
Just then his small rabbit nephew brought his spoon down on the table
with a whack.
“What’s that?” shouted the old gentleman bunny, dropping the
lollypop stick on his little left hind toe, the one with the
rheumatiz, you know.
“A mosquito tried to sting my ear!” cried the little bunny boy,
carefully lifting the spoon to peep underneath, “Where did he go?”
“If you would catch a skeeter
You must be lightning quick.
My name is Skeeter Peter
And I’m on to every trick,”
sang a squeaky, buzzy voice.
“Did you hear that?” asked Lady Love.
“No, but maybe I’m getting a little deaf,” sighed dear Uncle Lucky,
tucking a clean napkin under his chin and picking out a fresh
lollypop.
“There goes Skeeter Peter out of the window,” shouted his small
nephew bunny.
“Catch him!” cried the old gentleman rabbit, hopping over to the open
window. But, oh, dear me! The Old Red Rooster, who was raking up the
leaves on the lawn wasn’t quick enough, and away flew Skeeter Peter
to the Old Duck Pond where Mrs. Skeeter Peter was waiting at the door
of their tiny house in the long grass.
“Dear me! I’m all out of breath,” sighed dear Uncle Lucky, sitting
down in the rocking chair by the open window to read the _Bunnybridge
Bugle_. After a while he fell asleep and dreamed he was a boy again
and had sent a pretty valentine to a lovely bunny girl.
BUNNY TALE 16
DANGER
[Illustration: “My, but it’s growing cold!”]
“It’s growing cold! I must turn up my coat collar,” said Little
Jack Rabbit, hopping out on the Sunny Meadow. He had just finished
polishing the front doorknob and maybe his little pink nose was
pinker than usual. Maybe Jack Frost had pinched it when the little
bunny boy wasn’t looking.
It certainly was cold out on the Sunny Meadow! Billy Breeze was
romping over the frosty grass, bending the leafless bushes and trees.
Turkey Tim strutted about the Old Barnyard, spreading his big tail
like a Japanese fan.
“Although the sky is clear and blue,
Oh, dear me and oh, dear you!
How cold and chilly Billy Breeze.
He makes me shiver at the knees!”
sang Cocky Doodle trying to pull down his feather knickerbockers. But
he couldn’t. Neither could he pull up his feather stockings. Dear me!
again. Wasn’t that too bad? Well, I should say so, although I’ve seen
lots of little boys and girls with bare legs in the winter time.
“Bow wow!” went Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, tugging at his chain,
as Little Jack Rabbit hopped around the Big Red Barn.
“Bow, wow, wow!
It makes me laugh
To see Mrs. Cow
Spank her calf.”
“Now, that will do,” said Mrs. Cow, quite provoked, “it’s so long
since you were spanked you’ve forgotten you were once a puppy boy
dog.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, “now will you be good, Old
Sic’em?” But the old dog crept into his little wooden house with
never an answer.
Just then Little Jack Rabbit spied Old Man Weasel under the woodpile.
“Oh, dear me!” said the little bunny to himself, “what shall I do?”
“Don’t be frightened,” chirped little Bobbie Redvest from the Old
Rail Fence. “Old Man Weasel won’t dare show himself for here comes
the Big Kind Farmer.”
Sure enough, there he stood with a milk pail on his arm. So away
hopped Little Jack Rabbit to the Old Duck Pond to see Granddaddy
Bullfrog, the nice old gentleman frog in his white waistcoat and gold
rimmed spectacles.
“I’ll soon be going down to the warm mud at the bottom of the pond,”
said the old fellow, with a shiver. “I can’t stand this snappy
weather. Guess I’ll start now,” and with a dive off his log, he
disappeared beneath the water.
“Good-by!” called out the little bunny boy, hopping home to the warm
little bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch.
The next morning the Sunny Meadow was as white as Lady Love’s best
tablecloth and just as smooth, for it had snowed all night, the
snowflakes falling so softly that no one had even dreamed of what was
happening.
After breakfast Little Jack Rabbit pulled on his nice warm mittens.
“Don’t forget your muffler,” warned his careful mother. Then filling
his knapsack with little lettuce flour cakes, she kissed him good-by.
As he hopped along he began to sing:
“Three little bunnies a-sliding went
All on a winter’s day.
The ice was thin and two fell in,
And the third one ran away.”
“That’s a fine song,” cawed Professor Crow from his Tall Pine Tree
house.
“Drop me an ice cream pine cone,” laughed the little bunny. But the
selfish old bird instead threw a snowball, hitting the little rabbit
on the tip of his tail.
Off he hopped, for he wasn’t going to have snowballs thrown at him.
No, sireeman. And pretty soon, not so very far, he met Brownie Mink
creeping along by the Old Duck Pond.
“I must be very careful these days,” he whispered. “People wear fur
in the winter time and that dreadful Miller’s boy may set a trap. If
it catches me I’ll be a muff instead of a little mink.”
“They set traps for me, too!” answered the little bunny. “Besides, I
must look out for Danny Fox and Old Man Weasel. And sometimes, and
maybe oftener, for Robber Hawk. You’re not the only one who has to
look out for himself.”
All of a sudden the little rabbit felt hungry and, opening his
knapsack, handed a lollypop to Brownie Mink. But what the bunny boy
ate will take too long to tell.
“The next time you pass the Old Bramble Patch I’ll ask Uncle Lucky to
take us sledmobiling,” he said, buckling on his knapsack.
“Hurray!” shouted the little mink, tickled almost to pieces. He’d
never ridden in a sledmobile and neither have I, and neither have
you, but we may some day if we happen to be around when Uncle Lucky
passes by.
“The snow is nearly three feet deep
Upon the forest trail,
And windy rifts and hilly drifts
Blot out the lonely vale.
“Oh, little bunny, have a care
For Danny Fox is everywhere!
Be very careful where you go
And leave no footprints in the snow,”
sang Sammy Snowbird from a little bush in the Sunny Meadow, knowing
how hungry Danny Fox was now that the ground was covered with a white
carpet. Up at the Old Barn Yard the chickens huddled inside the warm
hen house and old Danny Fox couldn’t find even a feather near the Big
Red Barn.
“I’ll keep a bright lookout, never fear,” laughed the bunny boy, and
he hopped away into the Shady Forest. By and by he met a big Snow
Man. Wasn’t it strange to find a Snow Man in the Shady Forest? Well,
I guess it was, and the little rabbit thought so, too. All of a
sudden two little bears ran out of a cave and shouted: “We did it.”
“It’s a fine Snow Man,” answered the little bunny and, taking a lemon
lollypop out of his knapsack, he pushed the stick into the Snow Man’s
mouth. It seemed as if he were smoking a lollypop pipe. But not for
long, let me tell you. No, sireeman and no, siree, Mister! For in a
jiffy those two little bears took it away from the poor Snow Man, and
ate it up, stick and all.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the little rabbit, and, being a generous little
bunny, he took another out of his knapsack. “Take it home to your
little sister.” But the two bears didn’t have any sister, only an old
aunt who didn’t like candy.
After that the little bunny hopped away. By and by he saw a great
icicle hanging from a rock in the Bubbling Brook. Now Mr. Merry Sun
was doing his best to melt it, but Mr. North Wind blew so cold that
all Mr. Merry Sun could do was to paint it all sorts of colors, green
and red, yellow and purple. “It looks like a stick of candy,” thought
the little rabbit, breaking it off.
“I’ll fool somebody with it,” and away he hopped, singing:
“Over the snow, over the snow,
Hippity, hippity, hop I go.
I don’t care if the woods are bare,
For I love the snow, the beautiful snow,
Hiding the flowers until they can grow.”
By and by he came to the Shady Forest Pond. Of course it was all
frozen over with a thick coating of ice. Only the top of Mister
Muskrat’s house could be seen, in the upper bedroom of which, high
and dry, Mister Muskrat himself lay sound asleep.
Sliding out on the ice, the little rabbit knocked on the roof. But he
never saw the frightened Muskrat swim out in the water. Oh, dear, no.
The ice was too thick for that, although Mister Muskrat could hear
the little rabbit sliding about overhead.
“I must wait until Springtime to find out who called,” thought Mister
Muskrat, swimming over to his other hiding place among the roots of
the Old Chestnut Tree in which Old Barney Owl had built his little
wooden house in a big hollow limb.
And wasn’t it strange? Mister Muskrat never got the least bit wet
as he swam through the water. You see his thick fur overcoat is
waterproof.
“I have few friends in the wintertime,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit.
“Timmie Chipmunk is fast asleep in his little warm house. So is Woody
Chuck. And Granddaddy Bullfrog and Teddy Turtle are dreaming away in
the soft warm mud at the bottom of the Old Duck Pond. I’ll be glad
when warm weather comes.”
Just then who should pop out of his little snow tunnel, for by
this time the little rabbit was on the Sunny Meadow, but Timmie
Meadowmouse. He wasn’t afraid of little bunnies, you know, nor
squirrels, nor chipmunks, but always kept his eyes open for Danny
Fox, and Old Man Weasel, who are always skulking around, or for
Hungry Hawk, who is often flying up in the sky.
“I’ve been playing hide and seek all day,” laughed Timmie Meadowmouse.
“Who with?” inquired Little Jack Rabbit anxiously, wiggling his
little pink nose to catch the first scent of danger.
“Oh, with Danny Fox,” replied the little meadowmouse. “But, you see,
he didn’t catch me.”
“Don’t be too sure all the time.
Some day you’ll regret it;
Danger comes so suddenly,
Watch and don’t forget it,”
sang Charlie Chickadee.
Dear me! That little bird must have known that danger was lurking
near.
“Run, run, run!
Skate, skate, skate!
You’d better start this minute
Or else you’ll be too late.
Old Danny Fox will catch you
If you don’t watch out,
Hurry, hurry, hurry!
Old Danny Fox’s about!”
shouted Squirrel Nutcracker from his Tree Top House.
Away went Little Jack Rabbit, clipperty clip, lipperty lip! No, he
didn’t, either. He went slipperty slip! Slipperty slip! Just like
that, only faster.
“I’ll catch you yet,” growled Danny Fox.
“Not yet,” gasped the little bunny boy.
“Pretty soon,” whined the old fox.
“Never and never,” replied the bunny boy bravely. “Mother shan’t lose
her little rabbit, not if I can help it!” and away he went, faster
than before, and lots faster than behind. And in less time than I can
take to tell it he was safely over the little picket fence around
the dear Old Bramble Patch. You see, he couldn’t wait to unlatch the
gate, but gave a hop-tee-idy right over it. The next minute Lady Love
had pulled him in and slammed the kitchen door.
“Safe at home in mother’s arms!
That’s the place to be.
Warm and cuddley, mother’s breast,
Like a pretty downy nest,”
sang the Canary Bird. Then Little Miss Cricket chirped and the Three
Grasshoppers fiddled pretty music.
BUNNY TALE 17
TROUBLE
I wish that only lovely things,
Like roses red and diamond rings
And lollypops and ice cream cones
And pretty little colored stones
Would fall down at the rabbits’ feet
And make them smile with laughter sweet,
And not a hungry long-clawed hawk,
With swishing wings and cruel squawk.
And now I’ve explained in this little poem what happened while the
little rabbit family were sitting peacefully on the back porch of
their little bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, as he tried to
close the kitchen door. “Hungry Hawk, will you kindly pull your bill
away?”
“You can’t hurt my bill,” answered the old hawk, scratching and
pushing the door.
“All right, then,” answered Uncle Lucky. “Let’s see you get away, you
old robber.”
But, dear me! That old bird was very persistent!
“Get the poker!” panted Uncle Lucky, “I can’t hold out much longer.”
“Here it is,” cried the little bunny, handing the poker to the old
gentleman rabbit. Then, in some way or another, I can’t explain just
how, brave Uncle Lucky pressed it against the door and pulling up the
kitchen table, made it fast to one of the legs.
“Ha, ha!” he laughed, “now, old robber hawk, get away if you can!
Maybe you’ll wish you’d never made us a call,” and with a hop, skip
and a toe-slide over the floor, the old gentleman bunny peeked out of
the kitchen window.
Goodness gracious, how ruffled and bedraggled was the old hawk! He
could use his legs and his wings all right, but his beak was caught
fast in the door. No matter how he braced his feet and beat his
wings, or flapped his tail this way and that, he couldn’t get free.
No, siree! He was as fast as a clam at low tide.
“But how are we to get out unless we use the parlor?” said Lady Love.
“Besides, the front door has no spring on it. It will be mighty
inconvenient on wash day with my hands full of clothes-pins.”
“Shall we let the old bird go?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, hopping up
on the window seat to peep over the red geranium flowers in the nice
green box on the window sill.
“No, no!” answered Uncle Lucky. “Wait until I call up the Policeman
Dog and ask him what’s best to do.”
“One, two, three, Rabbitville,
Hurry up, I can’t keep still.
What’s the matter, Central? Please
Hold the wire while I sneeze,”
cried poor excited Uncle Lucky.
Pretty soon the voice of the Policeman Dog came over the wire, deep
and low, kind and soothing:
“What can I do for you, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot?”
“Oh, oh, but I’m glad to hear you say that,” answered the dear old
gentleman rabbit. “Dear me, but it’s nice and comforting to hear your
voice. Please come up here at once.”
“What for?” asked the Policeman Dog.
“Didn’t I tell you?” shouted the old gentleman bunny. “I declare,
I’m so worried and out of breath, so excited and scared to death, I
forgot to say that Hungry Hawk tried to catch us all while shelling
peas on our little back porch. I’ve pinched his big long crooked bill
between the kitchen door and the sill, but I don’t know what to do
with him.”
“I’ll come right up,” answered the kind police dog and, hanging up
the receiver, he put on his cap, picked up his big stick and trotted
off for the Old Bramble Patch.
“You’re a good friend of Uncle Lucky’s,” he said, on meeting the
Yellow Dog Tramp. “Come along with me while I tell you what has
happened to the nice old gentleman bunny.” While explaining matters,
whom should they meet but the Big Brown Bear, that friendly old
dealer in lollypops and honey balls, the friend of all the forest
folk.
“Come along with us,” said the Policeman Dog. “I’ll explain on the
way what has happened at the little rabbit’s bungalow.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” enquired the Big Brown Bear, anxiously.
“I’m very fond of Little Jack Rabbit. It was only this morning he
bought a lollypop with a carrot cent.”
“Well, it might have been serious if brave Uncle Lucky hadn’t slammed
the kitchen door tight shut on Hungry Hawk’s bill.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed the Yellow Dog Tramp, “won’t Hungry Hawk be pleased
to see us.”
“Ha, ha, he, he!” laughed the Big Brown Bear, “I’ll tickle him under
the chin.”
“Let’s hurry faster,” said the kind Policeman Dog, and climbing over
and under the Old Rail Fence they ran up the little path to the tiny
white bungalow.
How the Police Dog and the Big Brown Bear
And the Yellow Dog Tramp with his curly hair
Laughed when they heard old Hungry Hawk
Greet them all with an angry squawk.
“What are you trying to do, old bird? Break into the little
bungalow?” asked the Policeman Dog.
“You’d better get a jimmy next time,” cried the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“Or an ax,” laughed the Big Brown Bear.
“He isn’t trying to get in,” shouted Uncle Lucky from the kitchen
window. “He’s caught fast.” You see, the dear old gentleman rabbit
didn’t know that the old robber hawk was being teased by the
Policeman Dog and his two friends.
“What shall I do with him?” asked the Policeman Dog.
“Whatever you think best,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“Please take him away,” sighed Lady Love. “I can’t go out on the back
porch and I don’t want to wear out the parlor rug.”
“Put him in jail,” shouted Little Jack Rabbit.
“I’ll please you all,” cried the Policeman Dog, and taking a pair of
handcuffs from his pocket, he snapped them around Hungry Hawk’s legs.
Then padlocking a chain around the old bird’s neck, he told Uncle
Lucky to open the kitchen door.
It took the old gentleman rabbit two or three and maybe four minutes
to untie the rope around the leg of the kitchen stove and unfasten
the other end which was twisted around the doorknob. When all this
was done, he pushed open the door.
“Whew! I’m glad to get my bill out!” gasped Hungry Hawk, shaking
himself till three feathers fell on the little back porch.
“I’ll make a quill pen,—maybe three quill pens,” said Uncle Lucky,
picking up the feathers. “Ha, ha, something good in everything. I had
intended to buy a pen at the Three-in-One Cent Store. Now I can save
a carrot cent.”
“Come along with us,” said the Policeman Dog, pulling the old Hawk
through the fence. “You’ll go to jail for a month of Sundays.”
[Illustration: “Throw up your paws!” shouted Danny Fox.]
The Big Brown Bear and the Yellow Dog Tramp followed the Policeman
Dog to see that Hungry Hawk didn’t play any tricks on his way to his
jail hotel.
“Thank you all for coming up here,” shouted dear Uncle Lucky. “You’re
good friends in time of need.”
By and by the old gentleman bunny invited the little rabbit to go for
a ride.
Everything was going along nicely when, all of a sudden, just like
that, something happened to the Luckymobile and before the old
gentleman bunny could tighten a loose screw with the monkey wrench a
voice shouted:
“What are you doing, you old rabbit man?
Now throw up your paws as quick as you can.
If you don’t you will learn what a robber can do,
I’m sure you don’t want to be bitten in two.”
“No, no, no!” cried poor Uncle Lucky. “But who are you?”
“I’ll show you,” answered the voice, and out jumped Danny Fox. Dear
me, but he looked dreadfully sly in his brown unionalls!
“Please, please don’t bite,” begged poor Uncle Lucky.
“Throw up your paws!” shouted Danny Fox.
Of course there was nothing for the old gentleman rabbit to do but
obey, so up went his paws, almost knocking off his old wedding
stovepipe hat.
“How much money have you in your pockets?” asked the old robber fox,
hardly noticing Little Jack Rabbit.
“Ten lettuce leaf dollar bills and 23 carrot cents,” answered Uncle
Lucky, in a trembly voice.
“That’s not much for a rich old rabbit gentleman like you,” growled
Danny Fox. “Haven’t you forgotten your old leather wallet?”
“No, sireebus!” replied Uncle Lucky, “but I wish you had!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the cruel fox, “I think I’ll put you both in this
old sack and carry you home.”
“Come, come, Danny Fox,” cried Uncle Lucky. “If you do that you’ll
get only ten lettuce leaf dollar bills and 23 carrot cents. I don’t
want to be bumped about in an old flour sack.”
“What will you give me if I don’t put you in my old flour sack?”
asked that wicked robber.
“20 lettuce leaf dollar bills and 46 carrot cents,” replied poor
Uncle Lucky. “You’ll have to trust me till I go home. I’m a little
short of change to-day.”
“All right, but let me go through your pockets,” growled the old fox,
pushing his paw inside the old rabbit’s coat. Pretty soon he took out
a leather wallet.
“Ha, ha!” laughed that wicked beast, “maybe I’ll find a Liberty
Bond.” But he didn’t. No, siree! He found only a cigar coupon, two
transfers and a picture of Little Jack Rabbit in pretty colors.
“Fudge and oh, dear!” growled Danny Fox. “Take back your wallet.
Where are the lettuce leaf dollar bills?”
“In my inside vest pocket,” answered the old gentleman rabbit. But in
taking them out Danny Fox tickled dear Uncle Lucky almost to pieces!
“Ha, ha!” went the old fox. “You’re a ticklish bunny rabbit. Goodness
me, but you’re tickle-ish!”
“Tee hee! tee hee!” giggled poor Uncle Lucky, squirming this way and
that way, until all of a sudden off went his old wedding stovepipe
hat!
By this time, however, Danny Fox had the 10 lettuce leaf dollar
bills in his paw, and was just going to take the 23 carrot cents when
just like that, quick as a wink, and maybe quicker, a rope fell over
his head, yanking him backwards.
“Wow, wow, g-r-r-r-r!” coughed and choked the old robber, as the rope
grew tighter and tighter. Pretty soon his eyes almost popped out of
his head.
“You wicked old beast!” shouted a friendly voice, and the next minute
the Cowboy in Uncle Lucky’s Circus ran out from behind the trees.
“What shall I do with this old fox?” he asked, picking up the old
stovepipe hat.
“Anything you wish,” replied Uncle Lucky. “Why not take him to the
circus and lock him up in a cage? He can be one of the wild animals
the children like to look at.”
“To be sure,” said the Cowboy. “Come along,” and he gave a tug to the
rope.
“Drop my money before you say good-by, Mr. Danny Fox!” cried anxious
Uncle Lucky.
“Oh, let me go, I beg of you,
I’ll die in a circus tent.
Oh, leave me here in the forest dear
Where I never pay any rent,”
begged Danny Fox, as the Cowboy dragged him off to the Circus in
Turnip City.
“Don’t listen to him,” cautioned Uncle Lucky, who couldn’t forget
how he would have been robbed had the Cowboy not come along just in
the nick of time.
“I’ll pay no attention to the old robber,” answered the Cowboy, and
in a few minutes he was out of sight.
“Well, that’s a relief,” sighed dear Uncle Lucky, picking up the
10 lettuce leaf dollar bills. “I’m glad to get back my money.
But, goodness me! I’ll be late for supper,” and hopping into the
Luckymobile, he hurried home to Little Miss Mousie.
BUNNY TALE 18
OLD HOOTY TOOTY OWL
“When everything is going wrong
Just hum a merry little song.
Yes, hum it over twice again,
You’ll find a rainbow through the rain.
And soon the sky will turn a blue,
The rooster sing a cockle-doo,
And Bobbie Redvest from his tree
A song of joy that is to be,”
sang Lady Love, the little rabbit’s pretty mother, as her bunny boy
hopped into the kitchen.
“How do you remember all your songs?” he asked.
“I just make them up,” replied Lady Love, with a smile:
“Happiness is in the heart,
Singing all the day.
Nothing’s dull when one is glad—
Work seems just like play.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the little bunny boy, “I think you could write
wonderful fairy stories.”
“Maybe!” answered Lady Love, with a wistful smile, as she ironed her
little son’s blouse, “but I’ve only time to dream them. Perhaps some
day we’ll find time, you and I, to fill a book with songs of our
little white bungalow.”
Just then a knock came at the kitchen door. There stood the Yellow
Dog Tramp, his old straw hat over one ear and a little tin can in his
hand—I beg your pardon, I mean paw.
“Won’t you fill my old tin cup with coffee till it’s brimming up?”
asked the good old Bow-Wow in poetry. You see, he had lived in the
woods where the birds sing and the leaves rustle and had turned into
a dog poet without knowing it.
“Come right in and you shall see
A lady bunny make turnip tea.
We have no coffee, but you won’t care
If I give you tea and a chocolate éclair,”
answered Lady Love.
“No, indeed!” answered the Yellow Dog Tramp. “I’m not particular,”
and carefully wiping his feet on the door-mat, he trotted into the
spotless little kitchen.
“My, but you look pretty in your blue apron,” he remarked, as the
lady bunny put on the kettle.
“Mother always looks pretty,” agreed Little Jack Rabbit. “She just
can’t help it.”
“That’s because she’s always doing something for somebody,” replied
the Yellow Dog Tramp. “I remember my mother was just like her, but
that was long ago before I left the farm to become a hobo dog.” I
guess the Yellow Dog Tramp was right. All mothers are pretty to boys
and girls who love them.
“Well, I must be going back to the woods. It’s growing late,”
said the old dog, after finishing three éclairs and emptying five
tea-cups. “Thank you,” and away he ran.
“Cousin Cottontail has invited us over this evening,” said Lady Love,
as she put away the dishes. “She has a new radio set. We’ll go over
in time to hear the Jack Rabbit Man tell his stories.”
“Ha, ha!” cried the little bunny, “that will be fine!” and with a
skip and a jump he hopped out on the porch where the little canary
lived in her gold cage.
“Hello! Little Rabbit,” she twittered. “What makes you so happy?”
“Didn’t you hear what mother just said?” he asked, twinkling his
pretty pink nose.
“No, what did she say?” answered the pretty yellow bird.
“That we are invited over to Cousin Cottontail’s to listen to David
Cory’s bunny stories.”
Just then out hopped Lady Love and without waiting to tie her bonnet
string, hurried after her bunny boy who was already half way to the
little gate in the brambles.
But, oh, dear me, and oh, dear all of you little boys and girls! no
sooner had these two dear bunnies reached the Old Rail Fence, about
fifteen hops and maybe two skips from the Old Bramble Patch, than
they heard somebody or something go “Toot, toot, toot!”
“Look out, mother!” cried the little bunny, and with a skiptoe
sideways they both hopped into a hollow stump. Wasn’t it lucky that
there was a hollow stump close by? Well, I just guess yes three times.
[Illustration: Old Hooty Tooty Owl grabbed up the little rabbit.]
“Who was it?” asked Lady Love, in a whisper.
“Old Hooty Tooty Owl, maybe,” answered the little bunny.
Then they both listened to hear again that disagreeable noise, but
all was still in the Shady Forest, so still that one could hardly
hear Billy Breeze among the treetops.
“Dear me, I’m afraid to hop out,” whispered the little lady bunny
rabbit mother.
“I’m not,” answered the brave little bunny, and out he hopped. But,
oh, dear me! I wish he had been more cautious and not so foolishly
brave, although I like brave little rabbit boys just the same, but
bravery and foolhardiness are two very different things, oh, my yes,
indeed.
All of a sudden, just like that, quick as the wind that blows off
your hat, Old Hooty Tooty Owl grabbed up the little rabbit and pushed
him through the window of his big Tree House.
“I’ll eat you when you’ve grown nice and fat,” tooted that wicked
night bird.
“Oh, please let me go home to mother! It will take me a long time
to grow big and fat. Maybe I’ll grow thin, instead. Yes, I’ll grow
thinner and thinner until by and by I’ll be as thin as a pin,” sobbed
the frightened bunny boy.
“Stuff and nonsense!” answered the old owl, “I’ll feed you on
lollypops and ice cream cones.”
Just then a great pounding and hammering shook the big tree.
“I wonder who that can be?” thought the bad owl, peeping out of the
window.
“Oh, I hope it’s mother with the brave Policeman Dog,” cried the poor
frightened little bunny boy.
“Keep quiet,” whispered Hooty Tooty Owl, with a scowl. “If you make
any noise I’ll twist off your head.”
Dear, oh, dear! that is a dreadful thing to hear from a big owl when
you’re only a little bunny boy rabbit.
All of a sudden the pounding sounded again, only louder than before.
“Oh, I hope it’s mother,” thought the little rabbit, as he cowered
and shivered in the corner of the wicked old owl’s sitting room. “Oh,
I hope mother knows where I am.”
The next minute there came a tremendous crash—the Old Tree House
shook from top to bottom.
“Rats and mice!” exclaimed the wicked owl. “Somebody means business.
I guess I’ll look out of the attic window,” and the old feathered
robber climbed up to the garret of his tree house, ’way up near the
topmost branches, and peeped down.
At the foot of the tree stood poor Little Lady Love, the bunny boy’s
mother, and the brave Policeman Dog.
Once again and then five times more this kind Protector of the Law
knocked on the door with his great big club. Oh, my! how he did
knock! What a thundering hub-a-dub-dub! Crash! smash! went the oak
panel, and in fell the door with a bang!!!
“Where are you, my little bunny boy?” cried Lady Love.
“Where are you, Little Jack Rabbit?” shouted the Policeman Dog.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” answered the brave little bunny boy,
“just as soon as I untie the rope.”
“Oh, hurry please,” cried Lady Love to the Policeman Dog, “my little
boy is tied fast upstairs.”
Up the rickety stairway three steps at a jump went the brave dog and
the little bunny’s mother. Pretty soon they came to a dark room, in
the farthest corner of which cowered the poor little rabbit boy bunny
prisoner.
“You untie the rope!” shouted the Policeman Dog, “I want to catch Old
Hooty Tooty,” and up the attic stairs he leaped, only this time he
made four steps at a jump.
“My poor little bunny,” cried Lady Love, as she loosened the last
knot and clasped him in her arms.
All of a sudden there sounded a dreadful squawk and away flew old
Hooty Tooty, tipsy topsy, this way and that way.
“I tickled him with my club,” laughed the Policeman Dog. “Now I’ll
see you safe home, although I guess he won’t bother little rabbits
for a long time.”
[Illustration: The old feathered robber peeped down.]
BUNNY TALE 19
LITTLE DEEDS OF KINDNESS
Now let’s see what Uncle Lucky is doing this lovely October weather,
when the leaves are red and the pumpkins yellow as sunflowers. My
goodness! what a dreadful time the old gentleman bunny had to keep on
his old stovepipe hat these windy autumn days. No matter how tight he
tied his blue silk polkadot handkerchief over the top and under his
chin every once in a while Billy Breeze knocked it off and rolled it
along the roadside.
“Well, it’s Autumn again and the leaves are all over the front lawn.
I must telephone the old Red Rooster to come over and rake them up,”
sighed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping up to the telephone to call up
“Chickentown, oh, yes, oh, yes,
Ring Happy Bells, Sue and Bess!”
“Who is it?” asked a cock-a-doodley voice.
“Mr. Red Rooster, I want you to rake
The leaves from off my front lawn.
I’ll give you some money and plenty of honey.
Did you say that your watch was in pawn?
Well, never mind that, for I have a watch
Which will tell you when five o’clock’s here.
So come up to-morrow and don’t stop to borrow,
I’ll pay you two dollars a year,”
answered funny Uncle Lucky, winking at Little Miss Mousie.
“All right,” agreed the Old Red Rooster. “I’ll be there to-morrow
at six.” But whether he or Uncle Lucky hung up the receiver first I
don’t know, for I never thought to ask the telephone girl.
“I just hate to have my place look disorderly,” sighed the dear old
gentleman rabbit. “I’m glad that old rooster will be here to-morrow,
although it makes me angry when he leans on his rake for hours at a
time to watch the automobiles go by.”
“Let’s go out to the barn to see the pigeons,” suggested his tiny
mouse housekeeper, curious to peep into the little house which Uncle
Lucky had built on the roof of his old barn.
“I’ll take some corn along,” he said, filling his old wedding
stovepipe hat up to the brim;
“Come, little pigeons, eat up the corn,
I haven’t had time to buy rye,
And you mustn’t care that the store on the square
Has only a fresh apple pie,”
sang dear Uncle Lucky. By and by he hopped back into the house for
his afternoon nap.
Bright and early the next morning, before Mr. Merry Sun had taken off
his cloudy nightcap, the Old Red Rooster knocked on the kitchen door.
“Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
Please open the door when I take off my hat!”
he sang, after rapping for the umpty ’leventh time. Dear me! Uncle
Lucky was a sound sleeper. I guess he only woke up when his alarm
clock tickled him.
“Wait a minute,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, poking his head
out of the window. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he exclaimed, spying the
old red rooster. “You’ll find the rake in the barn. Start right in to
clean up the lawn. I’ll be out in a minute or three as soon as Miss
Mousie has made the coffee.”
By and by when the Old Red Rooster had raked up a pile of leaves
almost as high as the spur on his right leg, he sat down to rest. All
of a sudden who should come limping along on three legs but Danny Fox.
“Oh, ho!” laughed the Old Red Rooster, although he never would have
so much as smiled had Danny Fox been walking on four legs, let me
tell you. Oh, my no!
“What’s that?” asked Danny Fox, angrily.
“Oh, ho!” repeated the Old Red Rooster, with a loud crow;
“Oh, Danny Fox has but three legs,
He he, ha ha, ho ho!
He walks as fast as a Messenger Boy
And maybe twice as slow.
He’d not catch me if I were tied
To an old green apple tree.
He he, ha ha, ho ho, ho ho,
Ha ha, ha ha, he he!”
Dear me! Wasn’t that old fox angry.
“Nobody likes you, Danny Fox,
You’re wicked and cruel and sly.
You rob the henhouse every time
When there is nobody nigh.
You chase the little rabbits and hares,
And fill them full of terrible scares.
Oh, nobody loves you, Danny Fox,
As you sneak around in your woolen socks.”
“What’s all this noise about?” asked Uncle Lucky, looking out of the
window. But when he saw Danny Fox he closed it mighty quick, let me
tell you.
Dear me, I was dreadfully afraid as Uncle Lucky closed the window
that Danny Fox would catch the Old Red Rooster. But he didn’t. No,
siree and a no, sireeman! His foot was too sore, so he limped away,
saying with an angry snarl, “You just wait. Some day you’ll pay for
the fun you’ve had with me,” which made the Old Red Rooster grow so
pale with fear that when Uncle Lucky peeked out for the third time he
thought a strange white rooster in his front yard was raking up the
fallen leaves.
No sooner was Danny Fox out of sight than Uncle Lucky hopped down to
breakfast.
[Illustration: “Goodness me, this is a dull saw!”]
“Maybe you’d better tell the Old Red Rooster to saw the wood. We’ll
soon need an open fire in the sitting room,” said dear Uncle Lucky to
Little Miss Mousie.
“Goodness me, this is a dull saw!” sighed the lazy old fowl, looking
up at the old gentleman bunny’s pretty mouse housekeeper.
All of a sudden there came a loud knocking. Laying aside the morning
paper and carefully placing his spectacles on the table, the old
gentleman bunny slipped his feet into a pair of old carpet slippers
and opened the door. Who do you suppose was standing on the little
porch? Why, Little Jack Rabbit, of course. He had come all the way
from the Old Bramble Patch to see his dear kind Uncle Lucky, who had
given him a gold watch and chain you remember some three hundred and
umpty-’leven stories ago in one of the Little Jack Rabbit Books.
“Glad to see you,” cried the old gentleman bunny and leading his
little nephew into the parlor, he invited him to sit down in front of
the fire which was blazing merrily on the hearth this cold October
day.
“Oh, the wind will soon be whistling
Around the kitchen door,
And little drafts of chilliness
Across the wooden floor
Will almost take my slippers off
And maybe bring the hopping cough,”
said the old gentleman rabbit. But he didn’t realize he was talking
in poetry. Oh, my no. If he had I guess my typewriter would have
pinned a red rose on the old gentleman’s coat.
“Well, what shall we do?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, being a restless
little bunny who could never sit still in the same place at the same
time for even a little while.
“We can take a ride in the Luckymobile,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“All right, let’s go,” laughed the little bunny, hopping out to the
garage, while the old gentleman rabbit pulled on his boots and tied
his blue silk polkadot handkerchief under his chin and over the top
of his old wedding stovepipe hat so that it wouldn’t blow off when
Billy Breeze blew.
Well, pretty soon, as they rolled along in the Luckymobile as fast as
a comet, or maybe faster, for that Luckymobile could go when Uncle
Lucky was in it. Oh, yes, ah, yes; they saw Danny Fox creeping along
the Old Rail Fence.
“Oh, dear!” cried the little rabbit, “that old robber fox has stolen
a chicken from the good kind farmer.”
“Well, we can’t help that,” answered Uncle Lucky. “Foxes must live
as well as other people, only it’s too bad they can’t eat nuts like
squirrels, or cabbages like rabbits.”
Then all of a sudden the little rabbit had a bright idea. Taking out
his Policeman’s whistle, he blew on it with all his might. And, would
you believe it! that crafty old fox thought the Policeman Dog was
coming and dropped the chicken.
“My, you’re a clever little chap,” laughed Uncle Lucky, when all of a
sudden, three little grasshoppers in a field close by began to sing:
“Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall we do
Now that sweet summer time is through.
We chirped and hopped all through the day
And spent our time in happy play.
But now the autumn winds are cold,
The little lambs are in the fold,
With woolen overcoats so warm
To keep them safe from chill and storm.”
“Hop into my Luckymobile,” invited Uncle Lucky. “We’ll take you home
to Lady Love. You can live in the kitchen woodbox all winter and when
Spring comes you may hop out and dance on the grass.”
Well, it didn’t take those three shivering grasshoppers long to jump
into the Luckymobile, nor to reach the dear Old Bramble Patch.
“Lady Love! Lady Love!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hopping up the winding
path through the bushes.
“What is it?” asked the pretty lady bunny, opening the kitchen door.
How she laughed when she saw them all, Uncle Lucky, Little Jack
Rabbit and the three Little Grasshoppers. But when the old gentleman
rabbit had explained how shivery cold the grasshoppers were, and how
he had brought them for a visit, the dear little bunny lady invited
them into the kitchen to warm themselves by the stove. After poking
the fire, she put on the kettle and set the table with apple pie and
lollypops.
“Three grasshoppers sat down to eat,
Heigh-ho and two pink gumdrops!
They had apple pie and grains of wheat,
Heigh-ho and three lollypops.
And what did they have to drink,
Well, let me stop to think.
Ice cream soda and turnip tea
And then they were as happy as happy could be,”
sang the pretty Canary Bird.
And that’s how the Three Little Grasshoppers first came to spend the
winter in Lady Love’s bungalow.
BUNNY TALE 20
VALENTINES
“The rose is red, the violet blue.
Oh, how I love a rabbit stew,
I love it most as well as you,”
wrote sly Old Danny Fox on the Valentine he sent to the big fat hen
at the Farmyard. She was so pleased the next morning, thinking that
Cocky Doodle had sent it, that she called him over to her nest to
show him the nice white egg she had laid on St. Valentine’s Day. Of
course he didn’t know she thought he had sent the valentine, so off
he went to the Three-in-One Cent Store to buy her one, all covered
with lace and gold hearts.
As he passed Uncle Lucky’s white house on the corner of Lettuce
Avenue and Carrot Street he heard the old gentleman rabbit calling
from the window to the Yellow Dog Tramp, who took care of the
Luckymobile in the winter time:
“Come here, you good old yellow dog,
And see my valentine.
It makes me feel quite young again
Although I’m fifty-nine.”
“Who sent it?” asked the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“Goodness gracious meebus! How do I know?” answered excited Uncle
Lucky. “You never know who sends a valentine.”
All of a sudden the telephone bell rang.
“Hello, who’s this?” asked the old gentleman rabbit.
“It’s me, Little Jack Rabbit. Did you get your valentine?”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit, and the next minute he
shouted through the window: “Little Jack Rabbit sent it.”
“I wish I were back in old Vermont,
Safe from worry and harm,
But it’s many a day since I went away
From my home on the dear old farm,”
answered the Yellow Dog Tramp sadly, wiping his eyes as he trotted
into the garage to polish the Luckymobile.
Pretty soon dear Uncle Lucky hopped out of the front door and
down the road to Rabbitville, where he bought a valentine at the
Three-in-One Cent Store for his little rabbit nephew. Then quickly
hopping over to the Old Bramble Patch, for it was getting late and
Mr. Merry Sun would soon be in bed in the purple west, the dear old
gentleman rabbit tip-toed up to the front door of the little bunny’s
house and dropped the valentine on the mat. Then, ringing the bell
three times and a half, he quickly hid behind the rain barrel.
“Hurrah! Somebody’s sent me a valentine,” shouted Little Jack
Rabbit, looking all around to see who had left it. But no one was in
sight, except Charlie Chickadee picking dried berries off a bush.
“Did you leave this valentine?” asked the little bunny.
“No,” chuckled Charlie Chickadee, “but I know who did,” cocking his
head on one side and winking his eye nearest the rain barrel.
“Who did it, then?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“If I should tell you I much fear
That Mr. Lefthindfoot would hear
And hop around the big rain barrel
To end my pretty little carol,”
answered Charlie Chickadee. And away flew that naughty little bird,
and none too soon, to dodge a snow ball that Uncle Lucky threw at him
from behind the rain barrel. But it didn’t hit him, oh, my no! But it
hit Old Danny Fox who was peeping through the brambles. Yes, siree,
that’s what it did!
“Ha, ha! I’m glad Charlie Chickadee made me angry,” chuckled dear
Uncle Lucky, and the next moment he laughed so hard that one of the
pearl buttons on his pink waistcoat flew off and hit the end of the
old fox’s tail as he hurried away. Wasn’t that wonderful? Well, I
just guess it was. But perhaps you don’t know that Uncle Lucky was a
good shot and had once pitched on the Rabbitville baseball team.
“I’m glad to be home in time for lunch,” said the old gentleman
rabbit, as he opened his kitchen door. “I’m as hungry as two bears
and three wildcats.”
“Home again, home again,
Where it’s nice and warm.
Home’s the nicest place to be
When it’s going to storm.
Let the lightning flash and dart,
Let the thunder roar;
What care we when safe at home
And bolted is the door?”
sang his tiny mouse housekeeper.
“You are right, Little Miss Mousie,” answered dear Uncle Lucky, “but
how do you know it’s going to rain?”
“Because,” answered the little mouse, “I heard Willie Wind say just
now to the Weathercock: ‘I’m going to bring up a big black rain
cloud, so put on your mackintosh and rubbers.’”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit. “If the Weathercock puts
on a mackintosh I’ll put on my bathing suit,” and funny old Uncle
Lucky hopped into the sitting room to read the _Bunnyville Bugle_
while Little Miss Mousie set the table.
“Let me in,” all of a sudden cried a little voice at the window pane.
When the old gentleman rabbit opened the window who do you suppose
was outside? Why, a little white pigeon—one of Uncle Lucky’s pigeons,
you know.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” she whispered, perching herself on
the window sill.
“What is it?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, cocking up both his
long ears and wiggling his nose sideways.
[Illustration: “I must get back before supper.”]
“I have five little pigeons in the barn,” she answered, and with a
flutter of wings she flew back to her little birds.
No sooner had Uncle Lucky closed the window than some one knocked on
the front door.
“Be careful,” whispered Mrs. Swallow from her tiny nest as Uncle
Lucky hopped out on the front porch.
The tiny sparrow’s bright eyes had spied Old Man Weasel under the
woodpile, but I guess the dear old gentleman rabbit didn’t hear her
for, without looking about, he shook hands with the Old Brown Horse.
“How are all the folks?” asked Uncle Lucky kindly. “Anybody got the
measles?”
“Nope, but the automobile has a flat tire,” answered the friendly old
horse.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit. “You should worry!”
“I must get back before supper,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Maybe
I’ll be hitched up to the buggy. I come in very handy when something
breaks down.
“I used to pull the children
In the buggy to the town,
And over hill and thru the dale
My feet went up and down.
As o’er the road I trotted off
The children sang with joy,
But that was in the Long Ago
When I was but a boy.
It’s seldom now I take them out
Or hear their merry, happy shout!”
“Don’t feel sad,” begged dear Uncle Lucky, “your master is kind and
lets you feed on the meadow grass. You don’t have to pull a heavy
cart like many an old horse.”
“That’s true,” replied the Old Brown Horse, a smile spreading over
his face. “Maybe I’m a little lonely for the children. They were so
bright and happy.”
But, oh, dear me! and oh, dear you! just then Old Man Weasel ran out
from under the woodpile.
“Help, help!” shouted the old gentleman bunny, “help, help, give me a
club!”
“I’ll look out for you,” answered the Old Brown Horse. Kicking out
his left hind leg, he hit Old Man Weasel such a whack that the old
sneak flew over the white picket fence like a baseball from the bat
of Babe Ruth.
“That’s a home run for him,” laughed the Old Brown Horse, watching
Old Man Weasel spinning over the treetop; “when he comes down he’ll
land in the kitchen and surprise his wife.”
“Dearest me!” sighed poor frightened Uncle Lucky. “You did me a good
turn.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Glad to get a
whack at that old thief. Maybe now he’ll stay home for a while.”
[Illustration: “I’ll soon be out at the old Bramble Patch”]
BUNNY TALE 21
PHOTOGRAPHER CRANE
“One, two, three, Turkey Lane,
Is this Mr. Photographer Crane?
Please come up the Forest Path
And take my picture with a laugh,”
telephoned Little Jack Rabbit one morning, oh, so early, as Mr. Merry
Sun was climbing the blue sky in his golden chariot.
“All right, I’ll be there in a minute or three,” replied the kind
photographer bird and, picking up his camera, he started off through
the Shady Forest. It was quite a long walk, for his picture parlor
was in Bunnybridge, you know, just over the River Sippi, but by and
by, not so very far, for his long legs traveled pretty fast over the
ground, he reached the Tall Pine Tree in which Professor Jim Crow had
his home.
“Hello, Photographer Crane,” cawed the black bird professor, “where
are you going?”
“To take Little Jack Rabbit’s picture,” answered Photographer Crane,
setting down his camera and wiping his beak with a red silk pocket
handkerchief.
“Wait a minute, my little crow boy wants his taken.”
“Have no time,” answered the picture bird man.
“Oh, please take a photograph of my little crow boy,” begged
Professor Jim Crow. “It won’t take you a minute—here he is now.”
“Oh, all right,” answered Photographer Crane, setting up his camera.
“Now be quiet, don’t you sneeze,
Smile a little if you please!
Smooth your feathers nice and trim,
You’ll look like your father Jim,”
sang Photographer Crane in a sing-song voice from under the big black
cloth, which he had pulled over his head as Blackie Crow stood very
stiff and very still on a big limb of the Tall Pine Tree. Then with a
squeeze of the little rubber bulb the picture was taken. “How many do
you want?” he asked, folding up the camera.
“Maybe a dozen,” replied Professor Crow. “Send your bill with them.”
“I won’t forget that,” chuckled the Picture Bird as he hurried along.
Pretty soon he came to the Big Brown Bear’s Cozy Cave.
“Stop! Wait! Hey there!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, “I want my
picture taken.”
“Can’t wait,” answered the nervous crane, “I’m on my way to the Old
Bramble Patch.”
“It won’t take you a minute,” answered the Big Brown Bear. “Open up
your picture box and take my photo.”
“Oh, botheration!” exclaimed Photographer Crane, again setting up
his camera as the Big Brown Bear brushed his hair and combed his
trousers. I beg your pardon, I mean combed his hair and brushed his
trousers. Then, sitting down on a wooden bench and lighting his pipe,
he waited to be photographed. But, dear me! Photographer Crane was so
dreadfully nervous and his legs so trembly that the camera wiggled
and jiggled and I fear the picture will look like seven or eight
bears dancing in front of the Cozy Cave.
“Dear me!” sighed the poor nervous photographer bird as he hurried
away, “I’ll never reach the Old Bramble Patch, and I must not
disappoint Little Jack Rabbit.” But no sooner had he finished
speaking than out jumped Old Man Weasel. I wonder if he wants
his photo taken. Maybe he just feels hungry and will eat poor
Photographer Crane.
“S O S. Oh, please come quick
And bring your big old hickory stick;
There’s danger in the forest lane,
Oh, come and help poor Mr. Crane,”
shouted Professor Jim Crow over his radio as that mean Weasel crept
out from behind a tree.
Of course he did it so softly that Photographer Crane never heard
him. He had been hopping along on his long thin legs, his camera over
his back, feeling quite contented at having taken two pictures.
A good day’s work, and the day only half over. Pretty soon he would
be at the Old Bramble Patch to make a beautiful photograph of Little
Jack Rabbit.
“Maybe I’ll take it in colors,” he was thinking. “This little bunny
boy rabbit is such a nice youngster.”
Poor Photographer Crane! He didn’t see Old Man Weasel only a few feet
behind. No, indeed. If he had he might have dropped his big camera
and maybe hurt the little bird which all good photographers ask us to
watch until he squeezes the little rubber bulb.
But, no, sir! the good-hearted Photographer Crane never suspected
for a moment that he was in danger. My, but it was mighty lucky that
just then Professor Crow chanced to look down from his Tall Pine Tree
House. Dear me! I can’t bear to think what would have happened pretty
soon, and maybe mighty quick, to Photographer Crane if the good
professor bird had looked the other way!
“Bless my gold stripes and twenty-five silver buttons!” exclaimed the
brave Policeman Dog on hearing the radio call. Jumping up from his
mahogany desk, in less time than I can take to tell it, he picked up
his big hickory club and hurried to the Tall Pine Tree.
“Ha, ha!” chuckled the wicked Weasel to himself as he crept after
poor Photographer Crane, “in just two minutes or three I’ll bite in
two his long skinny left leg, ha, ha!”
“I’ll soon be at the Old Bramble Patch,” thought the kind camera
picture bird, strutting along, first on one leg and then on the
other. “I’ll make a beautiful picture of the pretty yellow canary
swinging in her gold cage on the front porch, the shiny brass knob on
the front door, Lady Love standing on the kitchen porch and Little
Jack Rabbit feeding the pigeons.”
“Gracious me! I wish the Policeman Dog would hurry,” sighed the
anxious but learned old crow bird, peering down from his Tall Pine
Tree House. He could just see Old Man Weasel’s tail as he crept, oh,
so softly after Mr. Crane.
“I won’t do a thing to that old Weasel,” laughed the Policeman Dog,
as he ran swiftly through the forest.
“My, this camera is heavy,” sighed Photographer Crane, slipping it
off his back. “I guess I’ll rest a minute or three,” and down he sat
on an old log. He didn’t see Old Man Weasel lean around a tree. Oh,
my, no!
But don’t worry, little reader, when “Pop goes the weasel!” as they
used to sing in the country when I was a boy.
Yes, “Pop” went Old Man Weasel, and the next minute poor Photographer
Crane found himself underneath that wicked furry animal.
“Help! Help!” shouted the long-legged camera man bird, giving a
kick-out with his long left leg.
“Keep quiet,” snarled Old Man Weasel, trying his best to bite the
poor struggling Crane’s bobbing-about head.
“Help! help!” shouted more loudly Photographer Crane. “Help! Help!
Please help me, somebody!”
“I will,” replied the Policeman Dog, swinging his big hickory stick
in the air. Down it came, whacko! on the wicked Weasel’s little red
cap.
“Ouch! Ouch!” he whined, letting Photographer Crane go in a hurry.
The next minute the Policeman Dog slipped a pair of handcuffs over
that old Weasel’s front paws.
“Dear, dear me!” sighed poor Photographer Crane, struggling to his
feet, no easy matter, let me tell you. Like walking up to the top of
the Woolworth Building when the elevators are on strike! At last,
when he had straightened out his long, thin knobby legs, he turned to
the kind Policeman Dog.
“Whenever you want your picture taken, come to me. I’ll take you in
fourteen different poses for less than nothing. Why, I’ll tint them
in pretty colors and maybe win a Little Jack Rabbit book for a prize.”
Then off he went to the Old Bramble Patch as the Policeman Dog
trotted away with Old Man Weasel to the Jail House in Carrot City.
At last Photographer Crane reached the Old Bramble Patch. There stood
Lady Love and Little Jack Rabbit at the front gate, dressed in their
Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, ready and smiling for a picture.
“Now look pleasant,” said Photographer Crane, setting up his big
camera on its three long slender yellow legs, though why he said it
when both little bunnies were all smiles puzzles me, but I guess it
must have been from force of habit.
“Now look as happy as you can,
Don’t you move, my bunny man.
Lady Love, smile ’neath your bonnet,
A butterfly is sitting on it.”
“All over!” he said in a minute. That is, after he had squeezed a
little rubber ball on the end of a rubber tube. “All over,” and he
smiled at the two little bunnies.
“I hope my hair wasn’t all mussed,” sighed the little rabbit’s pretty
mother.
“You’re the prettiest bunny I ever photographed,” said the
picture-taker bird. “Your blue apron will look just lovely in the
photo.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Lady Love, hopping into the kitchen to look at the
lollypop stew.
Then, folding up his camera, Photographer Crane went home to his
picture parlor, to which some day you boys and girls may go to have
your photos taken.
BUNNY TALE 22
“EVERYBODY INN”
Down the Shady Forest Trail
Twinkles here and there a tail,
Tails of squirrels, gray and red,
Tails of feathered folk o’erhead.
If you’re patient I’ll not fail
To tell another rabbit tale.
Listen now to my story, dear little boys and girls. Here we go,
my typewriter and I, both of us together, to spin a tale of a
dear little rabbit. By the way, I’ve forgotten where we left off
a while ago. Was it about the Circus Elephant? Oh, dear, no! This
is not the time for the circus. Was it about Little Jack Rabbit
and Chippy Chipmunk? No? Well, it might have been about the old
gentleman rabbit, for I hear a horn and here comes Uncle Lucky in his
Luckymobile.
In hopped the little rabbit and away they went, honk! honk! honk!
For the Luckymobile could go like the wind
And it always left everything far behind.
Not even a deer on his swift flying feet
With the Luckymobile had a chance to compete.
All of a sudden, just like that, or the crack of a pistol, a voice
shouted:
“Stop! stop!”
“Now, who do you suppose that is?” asked the old gentleman rabbit,
returning the salute by honking the horn two times and a half, Honk!
Honk! Buzz!
“I’m sorry it’s you, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot,” said the Policeman Dog,
with a nice kind of a growl, jumping up from behind a tree. “I’d much
rather arrest Danny Fox. Yes, indeed.”
“Then why don’t you?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, with a laugh,
handing the policeman dog a ten dollar lettuce leaf bill. Goodness
me! you should have seen that Policeman Dog smile. He showed all his
teeth and his spiked collar!
“All right, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot. I’ll go down to the Three-in-One
Cent Store to buy my wife a new washing board,” and off he ran to get
this lovely present.
“Let’s be a little more careful,” advised Uncle Lucky, when once more
on their way. “I have with me only three hundred ten dollar lettuce
leaf bills and I don’t want to spend them all before reaching home.
“When I was young, oh, me, or you!
Tra la loo, tra la loo!
I used to dance ’most every night
Until the sun was shining bright.
But now I ride in my little Tin Liz
Because of my bothery rheumatiz!”
Now while the two little bunnies were speeding home to Uncle Lucky’s
little white house a great com-mo-tion was going on in the Shady
Forest.
For almost two hours Grandmother Magpie had watched the big stranger
tear up the trees. But as soon as he began to build a house, away she
flew to spread the news.
“I have something to tell you!” cried the old lady Magpie, as pretty
Lady Love opened the kitchen door in the Old Bramble Patch to see who
was knocking.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she sighed, and maybe her voice sounded a
little bit disappointed for she didn’t like Old Mother Mischief, not
the least little bit.
“Oh, yes, I’ve some wonderful news,” answered the old lady Magpie,
fluttering up on the window-sill. “What do you think? There’s a big
elephant in the Shady Forest.”
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Lady Love. “Maybe it’s Little Jack
Rabbit’s friend, the Circus Elephant.”
“That’s just who it is,” agreed Grandmother Magpie, “for I saw him
practicing all kinds of funny tricks. Why, he stood on his head and
waved a little American flag with his tail. Then he sat on a big blue
barrel and blew a bugle.”
“Gracious me!” laughed Lady Love, “I wish Little Jack Rabbit were
home.”
“Where is he?” asked Grandmother Magpie, for she was a very curious
person, let me tell you.
“Over at his Uncle Lucky’s,” answered Lady Love. “I’m going to call
him up on the telephone,” and at once the dear little lady rabbit
hopped into the hall and rang up, “One, two, three, Rabbitville, U.
S. A.” In a few minutes Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot’s voice answered.
“Helloa, who is it?” No sooner had Lady Love told him the news than
he shut off the telephone and called to Little Jack Rabbit, who was
out in the garden eating lettuce sandwiches.
[Illustration: “Please don’t wiggle!”]
“Little Jack Rabbit! Your Elephant circus friend is in the Shady
Forest.” Then you should have seen that little rabbit hop into the
house.
“Let’s ride over in the Luckymobile. I haven’t seen my elephant
friend since the circus.”
Pretty soon as they passed the Big Brown Bear’s Cozy Cave they were
surprised to see that big brown furry animal sitting outside in the
sunshine having his picture taken.
“Please don’t wiggle,
Please don’t sneeze
If I tickle both your knees,”
they heard Photographer Crane say as he squeezed the little rubber
ball.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “How often does
the Big Brown Bear have his photograph taken?”
“Oh, I know why,” cried the little rabbit. “I guess the one he took
the other day didn’t turn out well.”
“Heigh diddle diddle,
And heigh diddle di,
The cat has been eating
A little mouse pie,”
sang dear Uncle Lucky.
“Who’s singing?” all of a sudden, just like that, enquired a voice
through the trees. But the two little rabbits made no answer,
thinking it might be Old Man Weasel.
“Hush!” whispered Uncle Lucky. “Who do you suppose it is?”
“I don’t know,” answered the little rabbit, taking his pop-gun from
his knapsack.
Again the same voice began to sing:
“I was always content when on pleasure bent,
Heigh hoo and a bottle of pop.
But no longer I’ll roam for I’ve built me a home,
And here in the forest I’ll stop.”
“It’s my elephant friend,” laughed the little rabbit. “I know his
voice.” Just then they came in sight of a big log house. At the front
door on a three-legged stool sat the kind Elephant, smoking a big
cigar.
Well, sir! You should have seen those two dear little rabbits hop out
of the Luckymobile! Why, Uncle Lucky hopped out so quickly that his
old wedding stovepipe hat fell off his head and rolled on top of a
little ant hill. It took the poor little ant and her four thousand
nine hundred and ninety-nine uncles and cousins and sisters almost
an hour to push it off, but Uncle Lucky was too busy talking to the
Elephant to notice what was going on.
Well, by and by, when there was nothing more to talk over, except the
folks at home and the new baby across the way, Little Jack Rabbit
said;
“Come out for a ride in the Luckymobile,
It’s such a long time since you went.
We’ll sure bring you back to your little log shack.
Do you like it as well as a tent?”
“I like it better in the winter,” answered the Elephant. “But I’ve
had lots of fun at the circus! Do you remember one day last summer I
shouted, ‘Give me a peanut!’”
[Illustration: “Give me a peanut!”]
“Of course I do,” answered the bunny boy.
“Well, don’t let’s talk of that now. We’ll go Luckymobiling.”
Locking the door of his log hut, he put the key in an empty bird’s
nest and climbed into the Luckymobile. And as soon as Uncle Lucky
had picked up his old wedding stovepipe hat and put on his goggles,
away they went.
“Oh, isn’t it fine to be skimming along
In the Luckymobile with a laugh and a song
And maybe a whistle, and maybe a toot,
As over the roadway we rapidly scoot,”
merrily sang the dear old gentleman rabbit.
“Gee Willie Kins!” exclaimed the Elephant. “Aren’t we going fast?”
“Not a bit!” answered Uncle Lucky, smiling as the Elephant held on to
his big ears for fear they’d blow off of his head.
“Dear, dear!” he cried, “I can’t get my breath!” After which, of
course, the old gentleman rabbit slowed down, not wishing to make his
elephant friend too cross.
Well, by and by, after a while, they came to a little hotel. On the
big sign-board that creaked above the front door when the wind blew,
was written:
“Everybody Inn.”
“Good gracious meebus!” giggled the old gentleman rabbit, “if
everybody’s in will there be room for us?” And he laughed so hard at
his own joke that his old wedding stovepipe hat fell over one ear and
he couldn’t hear what the Elephant said.
“Let’s get out and have an ice cream cone,” suggested Little Jack
Rabbit. Just like every little boy and girl I know—crazy over ice
cream cones.
“All right,” agreed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping out to tie the
Luckymobile to the old hitching post in front of the inn. Then
hopping up on the piazza, they all sat down at a little round green
table and waited for some one to take their order.
Well, after a minute or maybe three a little white duck in a pink
apron waddled out and asked:
“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“Ice cream cones for three,” answered Uncle Lucky, just like that.
So back into the hotel waddled the little white duck, returning
presently with a silver tray on which were three ice cream cones,
three lady fingers and three little paper napkins with roses in the
corner. But, oh, dear me! the Elephant ate so fast that he got a
dreadful headache and had to lie down in the hammock. And, oh, dear
me! again. The next minute the hammock broke down with a terrible
bump and out ran the little white duck to see what all the noise was
about.
“Mercy me!” she said. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“I’d feel a lot worse had I hurt any one as badly,” answered the
Elephant, rubbing his left hind leg with his trunk and wiping his
eyes with Uncle Lucky’s blue silk polkadot handkerchief, which the
old gentleman rabbit had politely handed to him.
“Perhaps you’d better take me back to my little house in the Shady
Forest,” sighed the Circus Elephant. So away they went to his little
log hut.
But when he went to look for the front door key in the empty bird’s
nest, it wasn’t there.
“What shall I do?” he asked, sitting down and resting his trunk on
the front door-step. “How am I to get in?”
Just then who should come by but Grandmother Magpie. Now you know
that magpies are very mischievous, picking up and carrying away all
sorts of things. So as soon as Little Jack Rabbit saw Grandmother
Mischief, he shouted:
“If you have taken the elephant’s key
You’ll soon be sorry as sorry can be.
For I’ll go tell Professor Crow,
And then you’ll be more sorry, I know.
For he’ll tell Mr. Owl and Mr. Mouse
You’ve stolen the key to the elephant’s house.”
Well, sir! As soon as that mischievous old magpie heard that she
looked in her little black vanity bag.
“Is this it?” she asked, holding up a big brass key.
“Let me try it,” answered the elephant, taking the key in the little
finger on the end of his trunk and fitting it to the lock. But when
he looked around Old Grandmother Magpie had flown away. Yes, sir,
she hadn’t waited a minute. I guess she didn’t want him to point his
little finger at her and say:
“You’re a thief, you’re a thief!
Better hide behind a leaf
Or take wing and fly away,
So you won’t hear people say;
‘You will have to go to jail
And wear a handcuff on your tail!’”
Well, after that, the two little rabbits said good-by to the Elephant
and turned off for home.
As the Luckymobile spun along Uncle Lucky began to sing, for he was a
very musical old rabbit and had a lovely tenor voice.
“If you’re not old enough to go
To see a lovely movie show,
You’re old enough I know to play
That you’re a hero every day.”
By and by, after a while, the Luckymobile stopped at his little white
house.
Oh, the little shady front porch
Is quite the coolest spot,
And in the hammock one may swing
When it is piping hot.
The little sparrow in her nest
Upon the topmost beam
Is telling to her little ones
A pretty fairy dream.
And while she sings so soft and low
Dear Uncle Lucky down below
Goes sound to sleep, and on the floor
His book falls from his tired paw.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit. “Did
I go to sleep?”
“Cock-a-doodle-do!” laughed the Old Red Rooster, who was cutting the
grass.
Rubbing his eyes, dear Uncle Lucky looked around for Little Jack
Rabbit, but he couldn’t see him anywhere although he peeped in the
croquet box and behind the big horse-chestnut tree.
You see, if his little rabbit nephew wasn’t near him all the time the
old gentleman bunny felt mighty lonely.
Just then Little Jack Rabbit with two ice cream cones in his right
front paw, hopped up the front walk. You should have seen Uncle Lucky
smile. He smiled so hard that his old wedding stovepipe hat dropped
off his head and his blue silk polkadot handkerchief bow twisted up
under his left ear.
“Oh, that’s the nicest thing you could bring this hot day,” he
exclaimed, after which he didn’t say a word until the ice cream cone
was safely tucked under his pink waistcoat.
Pretty soon all the little Cousin Cottontails happened in. At once
dear generous Uncle Lucky opened a big box of lollypops and they all
had a lovely feast.
By and by when the lollypops were all gone where good lollypops go,
and the little Cottontails had hopped home to the Old Brush Heap, all
of a sudden there sounded a loud chirping from the pasture just back
of the house. Off the porch hopped the two bunnies, lipperty lip,
clipperty clip, to see what was the matter. Oh, dear me, it was a sad
sight that met their eyes on reaching the old apple tree in the green
pasture. A young cowbird, hatched from an egg which her lazy mother
had laid in a Yellow Throat’s nest, was pushing out the little Yellow
Throats. One by one with her beak she lifted them over the edge of
the nest, and as the poor little things were too young to fly, they
fell to the ground.
“Isn’t that a shame?” cried kind Uncle Lucky, hopping back to the
tool house for a ladder. Placing it against the old apple tree, he
carried the little Yellow Throats up to their nest.
“What are you going to do with the Cowbird?” asked Little Jack
Rabbit. The old gentleman rabbit scratched his head, not knowing just
what to do. You see, he had such a kind heart that he didn’t want to
hurt it, although it had been so cruel to the little Yellow Throats.
I wish every one had as kind a heart.
“I’ve got an idea!” all of a sudden, just like that, answered Uncle
Lucky. “I’ll put her in the little empty bird house,” and away he
hopped with the Cowbird under his right front paw.
“Get the ladder,” he shouted. As soon as Little Jack Rabbit had
placed it against the tall white pole that stood in the middle of
the lawn the old gentleman rabbit climbed up and placed the Cowbird
in the birdhouse.
“Goodness me!” he said, scrambling down to the ground, “it will be
some job to feed that hungry bird,” and he took off his wedding
stovepipe hat to scratch his left ear.
“Who will feed this little bird
Until his wings grow strong?
’Twill be an awful job, I think,
And keep me all day long.”
“We’ll help,” answered Mr. and Mrs. Yellow Throat. Wasn’t that kind
of them? Next, little Mrs. Sparrow fluttered over from the front
porch and said she’d do her best to keep little Cowbird from starving.
“Well, that’s very kind of you all,” said the old gentleman rabbit.
“I’ll dig some worms right away,” and over to the tool-house he
hopped for his spade.
“Oh, never harm a bird that flies
Up in the country of the skies,
Or twitters in the Shady tree,
For God has made them to be free.
Oh, never harm four-footed folk;
Nor play on them an unkind joke
For God has made them, one and all,
From tiny ant to giraffe tall.”
Now who do you suppose sang this song? Even dear Uncle Lucky didn’t
know. As the voice seemed to come through the open window of the old
gentleman rabbit’s little white house, in he hopped to find out. And
what do you suppose he discovered? Why, the graphophone playing away
all by itself. Wasn’t that wonderful? Well, I just guess it was. But
then there are lots of wonderful things now-a-days. Ships that fly
through the air and under the water and little boys and girls who are
growing up to be kind-hearted men and women.
BUNNY TALE 23
THE RAGGED RABBIT GIANT
Oh, lovely roses come in June,
The Bubbling Brook has learned a tune,
And all the birds on bush and tree
Are singing songs for you and me.
“Ha, ha,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, as he hopped over the Sunny
Meadow, “I wonder if Timmie Meadowmouse is home.”
Pretty soon the little bunny stopped before a round grass ball that
hung between three strong stalks.
“Timmie Meadowmouse!” he shouted, “come out and play!” Pretty soon a
tiny head peeked out of the grass house and a little voice answered:
“Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Yes, it’s me,” replied Little Jack Rabbit, although he should have
said, “It’s I.” But what do we care? Teacher isn’t around and school
will soon be over and we will be in clover.
“What do you want?” asked the little meadowmouse, jumping down to the
ground. “How is Uncle Lucky?”
“He’s all right,” answered the little bunny. “Have you heard what a
dreadful time we had with Hungry Hawk?”
“No, tell me about it,” replied Timmie Meadowmouse. “Dear me, how I
do hate that wicked bird. He’s always flying over the Sunny Meadow,
looking here and looking there. But I always try to be here when he’s
looking there,” and Timmie Meadowmouse winked his eye like a wise
little mouse boy.
“Oh, we had a dreadful time the other day,” went on Little Jack
Rabbit. “Hungry Hawk almost pushed in through the kitchen door. If
Uncle Lucky hadn’t slammed it on his hooked beak, making him fast, I
don’t believe the Policeman Dog could have caught him.”
“You don’t say so,” exclaimed Timmie Meadowmouse.
“Yes, I do,” answered the little bunny boy. “And pretty soon after
we had tied the door tight so that the old hawk couldn’t pull away
his beak, the Policeman Dog arrived and arrested him. Now he’s in the
jail house in Rabbitville.”
“Then I shall have some peace for a while,” laughed the timid little
meadowmouse. “Oh, I’m so glad!” and he skipped over the meadow and
after him hopped the little bunny boy. By and by, after a while, but
not nearly a mile, they came to the Old Rail Fence, on the top of
which sat Chippy Chipmunk in his striped fur jacket.
“What makes you two fellows so frisky?” he asked.
“Oh, just because we’re happy,” answered the little meadowmouse.
“That’s it,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit. “When you’re happy your feet
just skiptoe over the ground. You almost think you’re flying.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said a voice, all of a sudden, just like that.
Dear me, I suppose I should have kept you from worrying by telling
you right off whose voice it was that shouted “Stuff and nonsense!”
It was Grandmother Magpie’s. That’s whose voice it was. And the old
lady blackbird looked most forbidding, let me tell you. Oh, yes, she
did, and no mistake about it.
“Good morning,” said the little bunny boy.
“I hope you’re well,” cried Timmie Meadowmouse.
“It’s a lovely day,” chimed in Chippy Chipmunk.
“What were you saying about flying?” asked Grandmother Magpie, with a
toss of her head.
“Dear me, I’ve forgotten,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit. “I was so happy
a minute ago and now I’ve forgotten what made me so.”
“You haven’t answered my question,” went on Grandmother Magpie,
sometimes called Old Mother Mischief because she is always
interfering in other people’s business.
“Mother told me not to answer your questions,” replied Little Jack
Rabbit.
“What?” almost screamed Grandmother Magpie.
“Yes, she did,” went on the little bunny boy rabbit, brave as a
lion,—a little lion, of course,—not a great big one. “She said you
meddled too much with every one’s affairs.”
“Oh, she did, did she?” snapped old lady blackbird, and without
another word she flew away.
“Oh, isn’t she mad,” laughed Chippy Chipmunk.
“Serves her right,” cried Timmie Meadowmouse. “She’s the most
disagreeable thing in the whole Shady Forest.”
[Illustration: “Oh, she did, did she?”]
“Don’t forget Old Man Weasel,” said Little Jack Rabbit.
“Nor Danny Fox,” chirped Bobbie Redvest. “Guess I’ll go with you.”
“Come along,” answered the little bunny boy. “I’m on my way to Cozy
Cave to see the Big Brown Bear,” and away he hopped, lipperty lip,
clipperty clip, up the Shady Forest Trail, in and out among the
trees, through the glen and up the wooded hillside till he reached
Mr. Bear’s dwelling place.
“My, but I’m tired,” sighed the little bunny boy rabbit, seating
himself on the big wooden bench just outside the Cozy Cave. “I wonder
where the Big Brown Bear has gone,” and he looked this way and that
way, up and down, back and forth, but no big brown fur overcoat came
into view.
By and by, not so very long, the little rabbit boy bunny fell asleep.
At first he closed only one eye, his left eye. Then he opened it and
shut his right eye. After a little he closed them both for a minute,
but the next time he forgot to open them.
Dear, dear me! I hope nothing dreadful happens to Little Jack Rabbit
before he wakes up.
Pretty soon as the little rabbit slept on who should come tiptoeing
by but Old Man Weasel. Dear, dear me! No sooner did he see Little
Jack Rabbit than he tip-toed even more softly around the big tree.
Then he peeked out, first on one side and then on the other. I
suppose he thought the Big Brown Bear might be in his cave wrapping
up Lollypops and Ice Cream Cones.
By and by the old weasel grew bolder. Nobody came around and the
little bunny boy rabbit kept on sleeping, oh, so peacefully, dreaming
about red clover tops and carrot candies and ’licious lollypops and
marshmallow drops.
“Ha, ha!” cried the old weasel, softly, just to himself, you know,
as he sneaked on his tippy toes toward the Cozy Cave. “Ha, ha! Won’t
I have a nice dinner,” he whispered, smacking his lips,—yes, he
smacked them again!
“Wake up!” shouted Bobbie Redvest so loudly that Little Jack Rabbit
woke up with a start. And then right over the wicked Weasel he hopped
just like a frog and away through the Shady Forest until he bumped
right into the Big Brown Bear.
“Oh, dear, and oh, dear!” he cried. “I’m glad it’s you, but why
didn’t you come sooner?”
“Why?” asked the nice kind old bear with a good-natured grin. “Better
late than never.”
“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” answered the frightened little bunny boy rabbit.
“But if you’d only come two minutes ago I’d still be dreaming I was
eating lemon drops and lollypops, clover tops and marshmallow drops.”
“Well, I’m glad I waited,” replied the Big Brown Bear. “If you had
eaten much more you’d have been, and maybe you will be, twisted into
a double bowknot by a tummy ache.”
“What?” cried the little rabbit.
“Well, perhaps not,” laughed the big bear. “Come, turn around and go
home with me. I’ll give you a drink of Cranberry Tea.”
Then arm in arm, although of course the Big Brown Bear had to lean
way over and way down, they both went up the Shady Forest Trail till
they came to the Cozy Cave. Of course Old Man Weasel was nowhere
to be seen, although they both looked for him here and there and
everywhere. At last the Big Brown Bear said:
“Maybe you dreamed about him.”
“No, no, no! I can remember all my dreams,” cried the little bunny
boy rabbit. “And sometimes I feel I’m dreaming all day, I’ve formed
such a strange dreamy habit.”
“Gracious me!” exclaimed the Big Brown Bear. “You’re a queer little
bunny boy. You’re a Peter Pan Bunny, so you are.”
“Tell me a story, won’t you?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, hopping up on
the bench beside the Big Brown Bear. “Tell me a story. I love to hear
about rabbit giants and bunny dwarfs.”
“Ho, hum,” sighed the Big Brown Bear, “I’m not much of a story
teller. Let me see. Maybe I can remember one that my old grandmother
told me when I was a cub. My, but that’s a long time ago. I hope my
memory is as good as my appetite.”
“Please hurry,” begged the little rabbit boy bunny.
“Well, here we go,” laughed the good-natured bear. “Once upon a
time there lived a rabbit giant who had only one tooth. But it was
an immense big tooth. Oh, my, yes. It was so long that it came down
beyond his lip about two inches. This made him look very fierce, oh,
very fierce indeed, and all the rabbits and bunnies and hares for
miles and miles around were afraid of him. They hardly dared to pass
his big dark bungalow, half hidden in a scraggly bramble patch in a
stony, barren field.
“One day as the Ragged Rabbit Giant (for he lived all by himself
without wife or children and so had nobody to mend his clothes and
teach him to be polite) hopped out of his broken-down, disorderly
bungalow, whom should he meet but a fairy bunny. Such a pretty fairy
lady bunny rabbit.
“‘Oh, my, oh, dear, oh, me, oh, my!’ she exclaimed, ‘why don’t you
get a hair cut and a new suit of clothes? And why don’t you mend your
bramble patch bungalow house?’
“‘What’s the use?’ replied the big rabbit man. ‘I’m so big and homely
and one-toothed that nobody cares about me. All the bunny boys and
rabbit girls are afraid of me, and I’ve grown so lonesome. No one
comes to see me, only a friendly fly and a little black cricket.’
“‘You seem to have a kind heart,’ said the lady bunny fairy queen,
although I didn’t mention before that she was a queen. But she is,
just the same.
“‘Are you very lonely and unhappy?’ she asked, as the big bunny giant
gave a tre-men-dous sigh.
“‘Oh, yes,’ he answered, ‘I’m so lonely that it hurts.’
“‘Now you just wait a minute,’ said the bunny fairy queen. ‘Sit down
and fold your paws over your ragged waistcoat and say after me:
“‘Winky pinky lollypops,
Ice cream cones and chocolate drops.’
“So the big sorrowful Ragged Rabbit Giant sat down and repeated after
her:
“‘Winky pinky lollypops,
Ice cream cones and chocolate drops.’
“Well, no sooner had the bunny giant said these marvelous words than
he changed into a very nice-looking rabbit man, with a new coat and
hat, well fitting trousers and tan shoes, and where his ugly long
tooth had once been, now appeared a good cabbage leaf cigar.
“‘Now see what I’ve done for you,’ cried the fairy bunny queen.
“‘I can’t,’ answered the rabbit giant. ‘My little cracked
looking-glass is home in the bungalow.’
“‘Well, never mind,’ replied the fairy queen bunny lady rabbit, ‘you
may wait till you go home. But before you leave I must tell you why
I’ve made you into such a nice-looking gentleman rabbit bunny.’
“‘Do tell me,’ said the rabbit giant, although now, of course, he was
a giant no more,—just a nice large-sized bunny rabbit man.
“‘I want you to surprise the friendly fly and the little black
cricket. You’ve been so very kind to them that they probably think
you’re very nice-looking. But just wait till they see you now.’
“‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ said the rabbitman, ‘I’ll hop right home, but on
my way I’ll pick some flowers and a lollypop off the lollypop tree.
My little friends will like them,’ and away went the rabbitman,
happy to think that he could please a fly and a cricket.”
“That’s a very nice story,” said Little Jack Rabbit. “But please
keep on till the rabbitman gets home to his bungalow. I want to hear
what the fly and the cricket say when they see him. They will be so
surprised that he isn’t a ragged giant rabbitman any more.”
“To be sure,” said the Big Brown Bear. “Now, let me see. I hope my
memory doesn’t fail me right here. It’s behaved very well so far. Oh,
yes, now I know what happened as soon as the rabbitman walked into
his big dark bungalow.
“‘Who’s that?’ cried the little cricket.
“‘What do you want?’ asked the fly.
“‘Don’t you know me?’ asked the rabbitman, ‘I’m the Ragged Rabbit
Giant.’
“‘No, you’re not,’ answered the fly.
“‘Of course you’re not,’ shouted the little cricket.
“‘But I am,’ retorted the rabbitman. ‘See, I know where my
looking-glass is. I must find it for I’ve not seen myself since the
fairy rabbit queen changed me into a nice-looking rabbit.’
“‘I don’t believe you,’ shouted the little cricket, who couldn’t
understand how the fairy queen rabbit lady could make him into such a
nice-looking bunnyman.
“‘You get out of here! No one shall touch our master’s things,’
commanded the little fly, stinging the rabbitman on his long left ear.
“‘Dear, dear me,’ he said, ‘how am I to convince these two that I
am really the Ragged Rabbit Giant, only changed into some one nicer
looking.’
“‘We always liked our Ragged Rabbit Giant,’ said the little cricket.
‘He was good to us. He fed and sheltered and never drove us away.
Oh, yes, he was kind and good, and we expect him back any minute, so
you’d better get out. He can pick you up with one hand and throw you
a mile.’
“‘Dear, dear me!’ sighed the rabbitman. ‘I’m worse off than I was
before. I’ve lost two dear kind friends. The only friends I ever had.’
“Just then who should come in but the fairy lady bunny.
“‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Why, Mr. Rabbitman, you seem more
lonely than when a Ragged Rabbit Giant.’
“‘I am,’ he answered sadly. ‘My two little friends, the only two
friends I’ve ever known, don’t rec-og-nize me. Please turn me back
into a ragged rabbit. I’d rather be ragged and homely than lose these
two little friends.’
“‘You shan’t lose them,’ she laughed. ‘Let me explain,’ and turning
to the wondering little fly and cricket, in a few minutes they
couldn’t help but believe the lovely fairy rabbit bunny queen, and
they saw again their Ragged Rabbit Giant master, clean-shaven, well
clothed and handsome. Yes, he was the same, only different.
“In a short time he repaired his big bungalow, weeded the garden
and cut the grass. Soon all the bunny boys and rabbit girls stopped
to see him on their way home from school. They called him ‘Uncle
Raggedy,’ although he wasn’t ragged any more. But he didn’t mind,
for his big heart was full of love for all little people.
“Now, that’s all,” said the Big Brown Bear, with a yawn.
[Illustration: “Fighting it out between them.”]
“Thank you very much,” cried the little bunny, “I must be going.”
On the way Danny Fox and Mr. Wicked Wolf spied him. But while they
were fighting it out between them away he hopped back to the dear Old
Bramble Patch.
BUNNY TALE 24
GRANDDADDY BULLFROG
Granddaddy Bullfrog was a wise sort of a person. He rarely spoke, but
when he did he always said something worth while.
“Good morning,” shouted Little Jack Rabbit one sunshiny forenoon,
stopping at the Old Duck Pond where the Old Gentleman Frog was
sitting on a log.
“It’s a good morning if you have helped your mother with her work,”
answered Granddaddy Bullfrog.
“I have,” replied the little bunny boy. “I’ve polished the front
doorknob, fed the canary and filled the woodbox with kindling.”
“You’re a good little bunny boy,” answered the wise old frog. “When
I was a tadpole I worked hard for my mother, but it never hurt me.
No, siree!” and Granddaddy Bullfrog smoothed down the wrinkle in his
white waistcoat and wiped his spectacles on a clean piece of meadow
grass.
“You said, ‘When you were a tadpole.’ Does that mean when you were a
boy?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“Yes, sir, that’s what it means,” replied the old gentleman frog,
snapping up a fly that ventured too near the big log.
Just then Mrs. Oriole from her nest in the Weeping Willow Tree began
to sing:
“Up here in my stocking-like nest we swing,
My little birdies and I.
We are content ’neath our willow tent
To sing as the day goes by.”
“When will your little birds learn to fly?” asked the curious bunny
boy rabbit.
“As soon as their wings are strong and well feathered,” answered the
pretty lady bird mother. “It won’t be long.”
“Ker dunk, ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog.
“Don’t you like cabbage leaf cigars?” asked the little bunny boy, as
the old gentleman frog wiped a tear from his left eye.
“Not so bad,” he answered. “But I can’t catch flies and smoke at the
same time!”
Just then along came a buzzy bluebottle fly. Out dropped the cabbage
leaf cigar as Granddaddy Bullfrog opened his mouth. Sputter, sputter!
and the big cigar floated away, frightening Taddy Tadpole almost to
death.
“Don’t you ever start smoking,” advised the old gentleman frog.
“Cabbage is good to eat, but it makes poor cigars.”
“I never will,” answered the little bunny boy. “Mother doesn’t like
it.”
Pretty soon Granddaddy Bullfrog closed his eyes. Thinking he was
asleep, the bunny boy hopped away up the Old Cow Path, over the hill,
till by and by, after a while, and a song and a smile, he came to the
Big Red Barn, on the top of which stood the Weathercock on his gilded
toe.
“It’s going to rain,
It’s going to rain.
Billy Breeze is
Singing a low refrain.
The swallows are flying
Swift and low.
I must point to the East
With my weather toe!”
sang the Weathercock, whirling about to point at the big black clouds
creeping over the bright blue sky.
“Dear me!” thought the bunny boy, “I must borrow an umbrella.
However, just then he spied a large toadstool.
“That will do!” he laughed, and holding it over his head, he quickly
hopped away.
“Cock-a-doodle do,
The grass is wet with dew.
But soon it will be dry again
Unless the sunshine turns to rain,”
sang Cocky Doodle, the happy little rooster.
“I’m going for a swim,” quacked Ducky Waddles, and off he went
through the gate and across the Sunny Meadow to the Old Duck Pond,
where all day long the blue Darning Needles skimmed over the water.
“Good morning,” quacked the wabbly little duck.
“The same to you,” answered the old gentleman frog, “fine day if it
doesn’t rain.”
“I don’t care if it does,” answered Ducky Waddles, paddling off from
the shore like a green-feathered ferryboat.
“I don’t mind the gentle rain,
It helps the flowers and the grain,
It makes the Bubbling Brook run free
Across the meadow to the sea.”
“Well, well, well,” cried Granddaddy Bullfrog. “What have we here? A
duck poet?”
But Ducky Waddles was out of hearing by this time. Well, I should
say yes, twice over. He was standing on his head, trying to catch a
little fish that shimmered in the water.
“What did you say?” asked Mrs. Oriole from her stocking-like nest in
the Weeping Willow Tree.
“I just remarked that we had a poet in Ducky Waddles,” answered
Granddaddy Bullfrog. “Did you hear him answer me in rime?”
“No, I didn’t,” replied Mrs. Oriole. “I was busy with the children.
But I heard you say something about a duck poet. I should say he
was an acrobat. Look at him now,” and Mrs. Oriole pointed to Ducky
Waddles still standing on his head in the water.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Granddaddy Bullfrog. “He’s fishing, that’s what
he’s doing.”
Pretty soon along came Teddy Turtle with his strong shell house
on his back. He didn’t have to worry about hotels in the summer.
No, indeed! He carried his little bungalow on his back and stopped
wherever he wanted to. Yes, sir. He could go to Newport or
Narragansett Pier for the summer if he wished, I dare say. But I’m
not quite sure.
“Is that Ducky Waddles out there in the pond?” asked the little
turtle.
“Yes, that’s who it is,” replied Granddaddy Bullfrog, “he’s catching
fish and I’m catching flies and the sun is shining up in the skies.”
“Dear me,” thought Teddy Turtle. “Granddaddy Bullfrog is talking
poetry. I’d better be going,” and off he went.
But, oh, dear me! Just as the little turtle crawled away from the Old
Duck Pond all of a sudden, just like that, a shadow came across the
sun. Into the pond went Granddaddy Bullfrog and into his shell house
went Teddy Turtle’s head and tail.
“Oh, pshaw!” cried Hungry Hawk, for it was his shadow that had fallen
on the meadow as he passed between the sun and the slow crawling
turtle. “I thought I had you this time.”
“Did you?” asked Teddy Turtle from the inside of his shell. “Maybe
you would if I hadn’t pulled in my head and tail.”
“Now what am I going to do for dinner?” asked the old robber bird.
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” replied Teddy Turtle. “Just fly
away, will you?”
“Maybe,” answered Hungry Hawk.
“Where are you?” asked Teddy Turtle after a few moments, carefully
pushing out his head, but only a little way, you know. But no one
answered. So the little turtle pushed out his head a little more,
trying his best to look three or four ways all at once.
“Look out! Look out!” whispered Billy Breeze.
“That’s what I’m doing,” answered the little turtle. “Only I’m afraid
to look out too far.”
“Be careful, be careful,” whispered Billy Breeze.
“What did you say?” asked Teddy Turtle. “I can’t hear very well
inside my shell house.”
“Be careful, be careful!” whispered Billy Breeze.
But, dear me! Teddy Turtle was getting curious. Yes, sir, he was
getting so curious that he just couldn’t keep his head indoors any
longer.
“Look out!” shouted Billy Breeze. But, oh, dear me! It was too late.
Robber Hawk had already grabbed the little turtle’s head.
“Let me go! Let me go!” begged the frightened little turtle.
[Illustration: “To be sure I will” answered the old frog.]
“No, sir!” answered the cruel hawk. “I’m going to take you home to
my wife,” and up he flew in the air. But, goodness me! He soon found
out what a heavy thing a turtle is. Pretty soon the old hawk’s wings
grew tired. Oh, very weary, indeed.
“I must rest,” he said to himself, turning toward an old dead tree
near the edge of the Shady Forest.
“Let me go! Let me go!” again and again begged Teddy Turtle.
“Be still, will you?” answered the old robber bird, doing his best to
keep his balance on the limb of the dead tree and at the same time
hold on to the wiggly jiggly little turtle.
“No, I won’t,” answered Teddy Turtle, with another wiggle and a
jiggle, and maybe a wiggle-jiggle-jiggle after that.
But, try as he might, he couldn’t wiggle loose from the bad hawk’s
claws. Pretty soon the old bird flew off again with the little turtle.
“Wiggle, jiggle all you can.
Wiggle like a wrestling man.
Keep on wiggling till you’re free,
Wiggle like a jumping flea,”
shouted Billy Breeze.
“Stop talking to Teddy Turtle,” screamed Hungry Hawk, by this time
out of breath and nearly ready to drop.
“Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!” again shouted Billy Breeze.
Then Teddy Turtle wiggled and jiggled and jiggled and wiggled until
all of a sudden, just like that, Hungry Hawk couldn’t hold him a
minute longer. Down dropped the little turtle right into the Bubbling
Brook and off went Hungry Hawk to rest his weary wings in a near-by
tree.
“Look out for him when he’s rested,” whispered Billy Breeze.
“I’ll swim away,” answered Teddy Turtle, and down the stream he went
as fast as he could go. Pretty soon he came to a nice deep place
under a shelving bank. Here he hid for a long time. And maybe he
would be hiding there yet if Billy Breeze hadn’t been on the lookout.
“The old hawk has flown away,” he whispered, dancing over the tall
water grass that stood barefoot in the cool water.
“Are you sure?” asked the little turtle, anxiously. “I don’t want to
be caught again. Dear me, but my neck is scratched. Hungry Hawk has
sharp claws.”
“Oh, yes, he’s gone. He’s flown away. Maybe he’s home by this time,”
answered Billy Breeze.
Teddy Turtle waited a few minutes longer, then swam boldly down the
Bubbling Brook towards the Shady Forest. “Dear me, it’s a long way to
Busy Beaver’s home, but I’ll be safe there, I know.”
BUNNY TALE 25
LUCKYMOBILING
Heigh ho, how the winds blow
This cool November day.
The leaves are turning yellow and red
And the clouds are scurrying overhead
Like little ships out on the bay.
“That’s a beautiful poem,” thought Uncle Lucky, looking up from his
morning paper as Reddy Comb, the rooster newsboy, strutted away.
Just then Little Jack Rabbit came hopping up the path.
“Let’s make a call on somebody,” suddenly suggested the old gentleman
bunny.
“All right, but not on Grandmother Magpie,” answered the bunny boy,
climbing into the Luckymobile.
“No, indeed,” replied kind Uncle Lucky. “She’s too meddlesome.”
Quickly turning down a road leading away from the Shady Forest, in
which the old lady magpie had her home, they soon came to a little
log hut in a cornfield.
“I wonder who lives there,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit. “I
never saw that little house before,” and stopping the Luckymobile,
he hopped over to the little log hut to knock on the door. The next
moment it was opened by their friend, the Scarecrow.
“Well, well, well,” he cried. “I’m glad to see you. Come in and sit
down.”
[Illustration: Reddy Comb, the rooster newsboy.]
“I’ll be back in a minute,” shouted Uncle Lucky to his bunny nephew.
But imagine the old gentleman rabbit’s surprise to find Turkey Tim in
the little log hut.
“What, you here!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. All of a sudden poor Turkey
Tim began to cry.
“He’s afraid of Thanksgiving,” explained the Scarecrow. “But I’ll
hide him here till Spring.”
“Dear, oh, dear!” gasped astonished Uncle Lucky. “I’m glad you’re so
kind. Dearest me, I’m flustered! I didn’t know you lived here.”
“To be sure I do now that summer time is over,” answered the
Scarecrow. “You don’t think I’d stay out in the cornfield all winter?”
“Yes, what would be the use?” agreed Uncle Lucky. “Besides, you might
catch your death of cold.”
“That’s just it,” answered the Scarecrow.
“My clothes are very old and worn
And one of the pockets badly torn.
The wind would blow through a hole in my coat
And give me a terrible frog in my throat.”
“Come with us,” invited Uncle Lucky. “It’s a beautiful day for a
ride. Don’t you think so?”
With a happy smile, the Scarecrow took down his old hat from the
wooden peg behind the door and, pinning his coat around him, for the
buttons were all gone, you know, told Turkey Tim he’d be back shortly.
As soon as dear Uncle Lucky had honked the horn three times and a
half, away they went down to the Three-in-One Cent Store to buy a
toothbrush. You see, the Scarecrow had forgotten all about it when
moving into the little log hut in the middle of the cornfield.
“And now where shall we go?” asked Uncle Lucky, as the Scarecrow
once more seated himself in the Luckymobile, for it hadn’t taken him
nearly as long to buy the toothbrush as it had his last Liberty Bond!
“Let’s call on the Tailor Bird. We ought to get measured for our
winter overcoats.” So they turned down a road leading to Birdville, a
pretty little town not far away. Well, by and by, after a mile and a
laugh and a smile, they came to the Tailor Bird’s Shop on the corner
of Twitter Avenue and Chirp Street. There on a little bench in front
of the store, sat the Tailor Bird himself, although it was the first
of November.
No sooner did this in-dus-tri-ous bird see the two little rabbits in
the Luckymobile than he began to sing:
“Stitch, stitch, stitch away,
I’m busy sewing all the day
I hardly have a chance to sing.
My needle uses up the string
So fast I haven’t time to play.
Why, I can’t even stop to say,
‘Good Morning, it’s a pleasant day!’”
And the Tailor Bird made his needle go so fast that Uncle Lucky
couldn’t tell on whose overcoat the old bird was sewing buttons.
“I guess I’ll get along with my old one,” said the old gentleman
rabbit, and, waving good-by to the Tailor Bird, he soon reached
Cottontail Square, where they found a big crowd gathered around the
statues of Uncle Sam and Aunt Columbia.
“What’s all this about?” asked the old gentleman, curiously.
“I’ll enquire,” answered the Scarecrow, standing up on the rear seat.
Just then a bunny man, carrying in his arms a little boy rabbit,
pushed his way out.
“Dear, dear! is he hurt?” anxiously asked dear, kind Uncle Lucky.
“No, no!” shouted back the bunny man. “It’s Tinkle Timmy, the fairy
bunny child. He’s only frightened. I’m taking him back to the Fairy
Glen.”
“You have a kind heart,” said Uncle Lucky. “Come around to the bank
to-morrow. Maybe we need a porter.”
Then away drove the old gentleman bunny. Pretty soon they came to the
Farmyard.
“Bow, wow!” barked Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog.
“Come here, I want to whisper in your ear,” said the old gentleman
rabbit, leaning out of the Luckymobile.
“Look out for Danny Fox to-night,
He’s coming here when the moon is bright
To steal a chicken for a stew,
So catch him by his curlicue,”
he whispered to the old watch-dog as he stood on his tip toes.
“Where is his curlicue?” asked Old Sic’em.
“Oh, I mean his bushy tail,” laughed Uncle Lucky, “but as tail
doesn’t always rime in poetry I said “cue” instead.”
“All right,” answered Old Sic’em. “I’ll be on the lookout,” and with
a wag of his curlicue,—beg pardon, I mean his long thin tail, he said
good-by. Then away went the Luckymobile so fast that it nearly ran
over a man who mended old tin pails, wash boilers and maybe other
things.
“Helloa, there!” shouted Uncle Lucky, “can you mend a hole in my
woolen sock?”
“Don’t you poke fun at me,” answered the tin man with a dreadful
angry look, “rabbits don’t wear stockings!” But when Uncle Lucky
handed him a ten carrot gold piece the tin man began to smile.
Pretty soon the old gentleman bunny spied a great tremendous pumpkin
in a cornfield.
“Whoa!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky to the Luckymobile, which stopped just
like that, only maybe a little quicker. “Let’s take the pumpkin home
with us.” But, dear me! how disappointed he was after hopping over
the fence. The pumpkin was so heavy that dear Uncle Lucky couldn’t
lift it to save his whiskers. Neither could Little Jack Rabbit.
“What shall we do?” asked the little bunny.
All of a sudden the Old Scarecrow, who had been sound asleep all this
time, woke up.
“Let me help you,” he said and, jumping out, lifted the pumpkin up in
his arms into the Luckymobile without even scratching the shell.
As soon as the Scarecrow was seated, away they went and pretty soon,
not so very far, nor so very long, they came to a cross road. Right
there stood a big sign post on which was written:
“To Rabbitville, 1 mile
To Lettuce Hills, 2 miles
To Turnip City, 3 miles.”
“Gracious me!” cried Little Jack Rabbit. “I don’t know where I’d
rather go.”
“I’ll tell you,” said Professor Crow, just then flying by with his
little Wisdom Book in his left claw.
“Now listen to me
For a minute or three,”
and turning to page one, oh, oh! he read aloud:
“Never hurry, never worry,
Never rush and never scurry.
Start in time and you’ll get there;
So the tortoise beat the hare.”
“Where did you get your wonderful little Wisdom Book?” asked Uncle
Lucky, taking off his goggles and scratching his left ear with his
right hind foot.
“That’s my secret,” answered the old black bird, with a smile,
winking his little black eyes and curling his feathers with his beak.
“I wish I had a Wisdom Book,” went on the old gentleman rabbit. “It’s
full of good things.”
[Illustration: “I’ll tell you,” said Professor Crow.]
“I’ll tell you something since you’re so fond of my little book. I’ve
written in it all the good things I’ve heard. You see, when I first
bought it at the Three-in-One Cent Store, it was only full of white
pages, but now it’s full of wise things,” answered the old crow,
glancing up over his spectacles. All of a sudden he took out his
fountain pen and shouted: “Listen! I’ve just thought of something:
“Frogs from little Tadpoles grow!”
Then with a bang he closed his book and, snapping his bill, flapped
his wings and flew away, but where he went I cannot say.
“Why didn’t we ask him which road to take?” sighed the Scarecrow,
looking up at the sign-post. “I don’t know anybody in Lettuce Hill
and what’s the use of going to Rabbitville when you two little
rabbits are here and not there. I’m sure I don’t want to go to Turnip
City. My wife’s mother now lives there and for me she doesn’t care.”
“All right,” laughed kind Uncle Lucky, “let’s go home—the best place
of all,” and turning the Luckymobile to the right, after a while, and
more than a mile, and maybe a smile, they met a funny Little Donkey
with two baskets over his back, one on each side.
“The Rooster sings his cock-ado,
The Old Cow sometimes gives a moo,
The Big Brown Horse will answer neigh,
But what does the Little Donkey say
When he puts back his ears and gives a bray?”
“What does he say?” asked Uncle Lucky, making the Luckymobile trot by
the side of the Little Donkey as nicely as you please.
“He says: ‘Look out for my heels!’” laughed the little long-eared
animal, throwing out his hind legs to show how high he could kick.
But, oh, dear me! He should have known better, for out rolled the
carrots all over the road.
Out hopped dear Uncle Lucky, kind Little Jack Rabbit and the nice
old Scarecrow to help him pick them up. As soon as the baskets were
filled and fastened on straight, for they were all wiggly waggly, you
know, the Little Donkey said:
“Next time I’ll think before I kick
And look before I leap,
And lock the stable door before
I lay me down to sleep.”
“Come in with us,” said kind Uncle Lucky. “We’re going your way.”
Carefully climbing in, the Little Donkey set down the baskets of
carrots. Pretty soon on reaching a little green barn he shouted:
“I live right here. Come, stay awhile. Although I live in a barn I
have nice things. Besides, I own three Liberty Bonds and a cigar
coupon. Oh, yes, I’m a patriotic donkey. My two brothers went to
France with the U. S. Army,” and, pointing to a small iron safe in
one corner, he added in a whisper, “That’s where I keep my money.”
“You can’t beat me,” said the Scarecrow. And would you believe it?
He put his hand in his inside coat pocket and drew out three Liberty
Bonds! Yes, sir, he did! “And I’m not going to sell them, either,” he
added, pinning his overcoat carefully over his waistcoat.
“If you’ll wait a minute while I put the carrots in the pantry,”
said the Little Donkey, “I’ll come back and make you some nice candy.”
At once the little rabbits and the Scarecrow sat down and waited
until the Little Donkey returned with some maple sugar, a lemon
lollypop and a chocolate caramel. Filling a saucepan with water,
he soon had a wonderful candy boiling on the stove. After it was
all done he put it down the well to cool, and when it was hard and
nice he gave a piece to the little rabbits and another piece to the
Scarecrow, who said it was much finer than any he had ever tasted
from the Three-in-One Cent Store.
By and by Uncle Lucky, looking at his watch, said it was time to
leave and, thanking the Little Donkey for a pleasant time, the old
gentleman rabbit hopped into the Luckymobile.
“You can drop me off at the cornfield,” said the Scarecrow. “Turkey
Tim must be lonesome by this time.”
And shortly after the two little rabbits were safe at home for the
night.
BUNNY TALE 26
THE RACE
The Big Brown Bear, the Yellow Dog Tramp, and Sammy Skunk, Esq., of
Sleepy Hollow, were playing pinochle in a little log cabin.
Just then who should come along in the Luckymobile but Mr. Lucky
Lefthindfoot, the dear old gentleman bunny rabbit.
“Honk, honk!” went his horn and “Hello, hello!” he shouted, stopping
all of a sudden, just like that, quick as a wink, right in front of
the little log hut. “Who’ll be the next President?” and in he hopped
to shake hands with his Shady Forest friends.
“Hope you’ll be,” answered all three with a smile, for everybody
likes Uncle Lucky. Oh, my, yes!
“My, but you fellows look all mussed up,” exclaimed the old gentleman
rabbit.
“We couldn’t look spick and span after the fight we’ve just had with
Mr. Wicked Wolf and Danny Fox,” replied the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Of
course my clothes are not of the latest style nor just pressed. But
to wrestle with Danny Fox would make a dress suit look like a pair of
overalls,—and maybe worse.”
“Come, jump into the Luckymobile,” said the old gentleman bunny,
with a kind smile. “I’ll take you all for a ride.”
In climbed the Big Brown Bear and the Yellow Dog Tramp, but Sammy
Skunk suddenly remembered he had an errand to do.
“I can’t go,” he apologized. “I must get a spool of cotton for Mrs.
Skunk at the Three-in-One Cent Store.”
“Maybe I can drop you there,” suggested kind Uncle Lucky. But Sammy
Skunk wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, no! Some other time,” he shouted, as he hurried off in the
opposite direction.
“Well, where shall we go?” asked considerate Uncle Lucky, honking
the horn before he put on his goggles. Then fastening his blue silk
polkadot handkerchief over his old wedding stovepipe hat and under
his chin and winding his gold watch and chain, he started up the
Luckymobile, his two friends on the back seat smiling away as if they
were going to the circus or a baseball game at Carrot City.
After a while and a bump and a smile and maybe a laugh or three,
there came into view a big kangaroo and a fat old bumblebee.
Dear, dear! Why didn’t my typewriter put this pretty rhyme into
verse. I guess it forgot I’m a poet!
“Stop, stop!” shouted the Kangaroo. “If you don’t I’ll give a hop
and a jump and perhaps a skip or two and land myself right in the
Luckymobile. I can jump much farther than you.”
“Yes, you have long hind legs,” smiled Uncle Lucky, re-flec-tive-ly,
which means thinking hard while you speak. “You’re the largest hopper
I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re a pretty good jumper yourself,” answered the Kangaroo,
grinning at nice Uncle Lucky. “Let’s have a race. I’ll give you a
handicap.”
“I don’t need one—I’ve my dear old wedding stovepipe hat,” answered
the old gentleman rabbit, hopping out of the Luckymobile.
“Who’ll be the judge?” asked the Big Brown Bear.
“Not me,” said the Yellow Dog Tramp, although he should have said,
“Not I.” But school is over and the teacher is away, so we’ll let it
go this once.
“I’ll be the judge,” said the Old Fat Bumble Bee. “I’ll be
Timekeeper, too, for I have a little gold watch.”
By this time the Kangaroo and dear Uncle Lucky were all ready for
the race. The old gentleman bunny was twenty-two hops in front of
the Kangaroo and the course was over to a big rock and back to the
Luckymobile.
“You start them off,” said the Old Fat Bumble Bee, to the Yellow Dog
Tramp.
“All right,” answered the obliging dog, commencing to count.
“One, two, three,—go!”
Away went dear Uncle Lucky across the meadow and after him the great
long-legged Kangaroo. Just one of his jumps was equal to three and a
half of the rabbit bunny man.
“Hurry up! Uncle Lucky!” shouted the Big Brown Bear.
[Illustration: “You’re a pretty good jumper yourself”]
“Catch him!” cried the Old Bumble Bee, who was the Kangaroo’s friend,
although I forgot to mention it sooner.
“Go it!” shouted the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Go it, Uncle Lucky!”
And then the old gentleman bunny went faster than ever. I guess it
was all the blue silk polkadot handkerchief could do to keep his old
wedding stovepipe hat from falling off!
“Goodness me!” gasped Uncle Lucky, as he turned back from the big
rock on his way home to the winning place, “that Kangaroo is gaining
on me. I must hop a little faster and then some more.”
“My, but that old gentleman rabbit is pretty good yet,” thought the
Kangaroo, touching the big rock and starting back after the old
gentleman bunny sprinter.
“Come on! Come on! Uncle Lucky!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, jumping
up and down on the front seat of the Luckymobile.
“Hurry up, hurry up!” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Hurry up, Uncle
Lucky!”
“Catch him!” cried the Old Bumble Bee to the long legged Kangaroo.
“Dearest me!” gasped poor Uncle Lucky, “I’m most in!”
Just then, and it was mighty lucky, too, as you’ll soon see, the blue
silk polkadot handkerchief slipped off his old wedding stovepipe, and
before the old gentleman bunny could save it that precious hat had
fallen to the ground.
“Don’t stop!” shouted the Big Brown Bear. And Uncle Lucky didn’t.
Neither did the long-legged Kangaroo. He tried hard not to step into
the stovepipe hat, but in slipped his right foot and over he went,
tripperty trip, flat on the meadow grass, and the next minute the old
gentleman bunny had touched the Luckymobile and won the race.
“Hip, hurrah!” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“Three cheers!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, but Uncle Lucky didn’t
say anything. He didn’t care nearly so much about winning as he did
to find out whether his dear old wedding stovepipe hat were injured.
Hopping quickly back to the Kangaroo, who was just struggling to his
feet, the old gentleman rabbit exclaimed:
“Oh, please be careful of my hat
And gently pull it off.
Just hold your breath and close your eyes
And don’t you dare to cough.”
“Don’t worry,” answered the Kangaroo, hopping about on one foot while
he tugged at the old stovepipe hat. “I’ll not cough, but I may do
something else,” and he began to look dreadfully cross. “This hat is
so tight it makes my pinky ache.”
“Sit down, sit down!” advised Uncle Lucky. “The first thing you know
you’ll lose your balance and that will be the end of my dear old
wedding stovepipe hat. Oh, please sit down.”
But, oh, dear me! The Kangaroo suddenly stubbed his toe on a
buttercup, and down he went, head over heels, on the meadow.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do
If my dear old hat is broken!
Since ’63 it’s been to me
A loving memory token,”
cried the old gentleman rabbit, hopping over to the sprawling
Kangaroo.
“There, take your old hat,” he grumbled, pulling out his foot with a
desperate tug, “I lost the race on account of it and my temper, too.
Take it away before I lose my money.”
The old gentleman bunny lost no time in placing it on his head and
with a thank you and hope I meet you soon again, he hopped into his
Luckymobile and drove away with his two good friends, the Big Brown
Bear and the Yellow Dog Tramp.
BUNNY TALE 27
THE OLD BROWN HORSE
One morning, oh, so early,
When the dew shone on the grass
And the Mill Pond lay so quiet
It seemed a looking glass,
Little Jack Rabbit hopped up the Winding Trail in the Shady Forest to
the Forest Pool, in which Busy Beaver had a nice bungalow.
Of course this little hairy swimmer was at home. Yes, indeed. There
he sat on the bank, looking here and looking there, just as if he
hadn’t a single care.
“Hello!” shouted the little bunny boy rabbit.
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” answered Busy Beaver. “It’s a long time
since you’ve made a call.”
“So it is,” replied the little rabbit, “but you’re not the only busy
person in the world.”
“I’m not busy just now. You see, I work on my new building at night,”
and Busy Beaver flapped the water with his long flat tail.
“Where are the other members of the family?” asked the polite little
rabbit. You see, not having made a call for so long a time he had
forgotten all their names.
“Oh, they’re cutting down some small trees,” replied Busy Beaver.
“As we live on land and in the water, we must have two houses. Then,
too, as the children grow up we need more, which keeps us busy all
the time.”
“Well, remember me to everybody,” said the little bunny boy rabbit,
and away he hopped, lipperty lip, clipperty clip until all of a
sudden, just like that, whom should he see but the Farmer’s Boy with
a gun over his shoulder.
“Dear, dear!” thought the little rabbit. “Is he going to shoot Busy
Beaver, I wonder. His nice fur coat would make a warm pair of gloves
for the cold weather. I guess I’ll warn Busy Beaver.”
So back hopped this kind-hearted little bunny, clipperty clip,
lipperty lip, looking over his shoulder now and then and sometimes
oftener to see if the Farmer’s Boy was following him.
“What are you back for?” asked Busy Beaver, as all out of breath
Little Jack Rabbit stopped again at the Shady Forest Pool.
“S-s-sh!” whispered the little bunny. “The Farmer’s Boy is out with
his gun. I just saw him up the Shady Forest Trail. That’s why I
hopped back.”
“Very kind of you,” answered the little beaver. “Guess I’ll take to
the water. I’ve got a nice hiding place not far from here. Good-by,”
and away he swam in his nice chestnut brown fur coat, leaving the
boy bunny rabbit all alone. Dear me! I hope the Farmer’s Boy doesn’t
shoot him before I get him safely away, too.
“What was that?” thought the Farmer’s Boy as Little Jack Rabbit
hopped into a hollow stump near by. “What was that?” repeated the
curious boy, tiptoeing over to the Shady Forest Pool. I guess he had
heard the slap of the little beaver’s long flat tail as he dived down
under the water to reach his front door.
Pretty soon the Farmer’s Boy turned away and walked up to the hollow
stump. He was just going to thrust in his arm when he heard a great
splashing in the Shady Forest Pool. My goodness, how Busy Beaver was
flapping the water with his big flat tail, sending the spray flying
in all directions.
At once the Farmer’s Boy forgot all about the hollow stump. Lifting
his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim, but before he could
pull the trigger a big drop of water spattered in his eye and he
dropped the gun to take out his pocket handkerchief. Wait a minute,
please, I’ve made a mistake. I meant to say he dropped his gun to
brush the water from his eye with his coat sleeve.
“Now’s your chance!” shouted Busy Beaver.
Of course the Farmer’s Boy didn’t understand this warning, but the
little rabbit did. Peeking out of the hollow stump for just a minute,
he went hipperty hop, clipperty clip, lipperty lip down the Shady
Forest Trail, past the wooded hillside where beneath a pile of rocks
Danny Fox had his den.
“Now’s my chance,” thought Danny Fox, and out he jumped from his
rocky bungalow.
“Dear, oh, dear me! Now what shall I do? I’m a goner, I know it!”
cried the poor little bunny boy rabbit. “Yes, I’m a goner as sure as
sunshine follows rain.”
“Stop whispering to yourself!” snarled the wicked fox. “I’ve a good
mind to eat you right now before the Policeman Dog happens by with
his big hickory stick.”
[Illustration: “Now’s my chance,” thought Danny Fox.]
“Please do—I mean, please don’t! Oh, dear, oh, dear, I don’t know
what I mean!” cried the poor frightened little bunny, his pink nose
twinkling like a star on a frosty night.
“Gr-r-r!” snarled the old fox, creeping closer and closer till his
hot breath burned the shivering little rabbit’s whiskers. “I’m going
to eat you now. Make no mistake about it. You have given me the slip
once too often.”
“No, you’re not!” shouted a friendly voice and from behind a clump
of trees out ran the Old Brown Horse. Turning quickly around, he let
fly with his two hind feet, sending Danny Fox through the air like a
hairy four-footed two-eared football.
“Never come back!” cried the Old Brown Horse, leaning over to see if
the little rabbit was all right. Of course he was, but all a-tremble.
“Thank you,” he cried. “Won’t you come home with me? You can sleep in
our Little Red Barn.”
“All right,” answered the Big Brown Horse, trotting after the little
bunny rabbit boy.
“Perhaps if you hop on my back you’ll be home in the Old Bramble
Patch in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” said the Old Brown Horse,
noticing how trembly the little rabbit was.
So up hopped the little bunny boy and away they went, trottery trot,
bumperty, bump! By and by, after a while, and a laugh and a smile,
they came to a big wide river.
“I’m not a very good swimmer,” apologized the kind four-footed
animal, “but maybe I can manage to get across.”
“Don’t take too many chances,” advised the little bunny boy rabbit.
But the Old Brown Horse kept right on wading into the water and
pretty soon it was up to his shoulder. All of a sudden his feet
couldn’t touch bottom. Only a little bit of the top of his back was
above water and Little Jack Rabbit had to pull up his feet and hug
tight to the Old Brown Horse—hold tight to his mane, you know, so he
wouldn’t slip off.
They were now out in the middle of the river where the water ran fast
and furious. Dear me! It was now hard work to swim and the Old Brown
Horse began to puff and pant as down the river they drifted with the
fast flowing current.
“I guess I’m all in,” panted the poor tired steed. “I never was a
fine swimmer. The race track was the place where I could show my
heels to the best of them!”
“What are we going to do?” asked the anxious little bunny boy, as
they drifted farther and farther away. The trees on the shore nodded
and seemed to beckon them to swim to land. The white fleecy clouds up
in the sky took the shape of fingers pointing to the shore. The poor
Old Brown Horse was all tired out and his long thin legs made poor
paddle wheels. If only his feet had been flat like Ducky Waddles it
would have been an easy matter to have made the shore and landed his
little bunny rider safely on the grass.
By and by Mr. Merry Sun drew close to the tip of the Western Hills.
The sky became all pinky-purple and golden-blue. Billy Breeze began
to whisper sleepy music in the treetops and the birds to fly home to
their leafy nests. I guess Mrs. Cow was ringing the little bell on
her leather collar to call her long-legged calf. It was past supper
time and the Twinkle Twinkle Star would be shining from the sky.
“What shall we do?” asked the little anxious bunny.
“I don’t know,” sadly replied the poor steed. “My feet are dreadfully
stiff and cold. I can hardly swish my tail it’s so wet and heavy.”
Just then a voice came across the darkening waters: “I’ll help you!”
“Do it quick!” gasped the Old Brown Horse, still bravely struggling
in the swift current. “I’m all in!”
“Oh, please come at once with a boat or a life preserver!” shouted
Little Jack Rabbit. “My dear Old Brown Horse is nearly drowned.”
The next moment around a bend in the river came the Billy Goat with
his Ferryboat. You remember the Ferryboat, don’t you? The old rowboat
with a bicycle in the middle and paddle wheels on the side to push it
ahead or backward or any way which Captain Billygoat wished to go.
“Oh, hurry, hurry!” shouted the poor frightened little bunny boy, as
the Old Brown Horse floundered about in the angry waters, his head
at times almost disappearing and his poor hind legs refusing to make
another stroke.
“I’m coming. Keep up!” shouted back the kind Billy Goat, making his
hind legs go so fast that the spray from the paddle wheels almost
hid him from view. At last, however, and none too soon, he came
alongside the poor tired horse.
“Quick! Jump in!” shouted the Billy Goat, and in hopped the bunny
rabbit boy.
[Illustration: “Lay your head in the boat,” cried the Billy Goat.]
“Lay your head in the boat,” cried the Billy Goat to the Old Brown
Horse.
Dear me! The poor old fellow had scarcely enough strength to do even
that. At length, however, he began to breathe easier, for all he had
to do was just be towed along.
“You saved me from a watery grave, kind Billy Goat Ferry Man. Some
day I’ll do you a friendly deed,” said the grateful horse when the
Ferryboat reached the shore.
“Oh, don’t mention it,” replied the Billy Goat. “I’d do anything for
you and Little Jack Rabbit. Give my regards to the folks at home!”
and away paddled the good lifesaver in his paddle-wheel rowboat to
the wharf where the little rabbit boys and girls waited for him to
take them to ice cream picnics or lollypop clambakes.
“I’ll take you home now that I’m nicely rested,” said the Old Brown
Horse. “I declare, I never thought this river had so swift a current.”
“Oh, I was so frightened,” answered the little rabbit, climbing on
his back. “I thought I’d never see the dear Old Bramble Patch again.
I want to get home to mother.”
“You’ll be there pretty soon,” replied the old horse, setting off at
a brisk trot.
As they neared the Old Bramble Patch they saw Lady Love standing at
the gate, shading her eyes with her front paw.
“Home again, my little bunny.
Come and eat your bread and honey.
You have been away all day,
Now with mother you may stay,”
sang the pretty canary.
BUNNY TALE 28
THE VISIT
Oh, when you don’t know what to do
Just take a book and read it through.
Most often something there you’ll find
To give you a contented mind.
You see, we often grow tired of the same old thing. Our roller
skates are put aside, our bat and ball don’t interest us; we don’t
wish to even run about and look for a good time. And that’s just the
way Little Jack Rabbit felt. So, what did he do? Well, he didn’t do
anything till Lady Love, his patient bunny rabbit mother, suggested
that he read a book.
“What shall I read?” he asked, wiggling his little pink nose as much
as to say, “I’d rather eat a lollypop.” But his mother didn’t notice
his twinkling nose,—or, if she did, she merely overlooked it.
“Yes, why don’t you read a book,” she repeated. “Books are like
friends, sometimes they teach us things, sometimes they amuse us, and
sometimes——”
She had no need to finish her sentence, for the little rabbit boy had
hopped over to the bookshelf.
After looking over the row of pretty books he picked out one that was
called:
“BUNNY BOY’S CRACKER ANIMALS.”
“That sounds interesting,” said the little rabbit boy to himself,
and, hopping into a chair, he began to read:
“Once upon a time there lived a Bunny Boy Rabbit who had a little
knapsack in which he kept animal crackers. Now this little bunny
boy was so fond of his cracker animals that he never could bear
to bite off a head or an ear, or a trunk or a tail. By and by
his knapsack became so full that it could hold no more. And then
something happened. As he hopped along one day he thought to
himself, ‘What a racket those Animal Crackers are making in my
knapsack. Maybe they are trying to get out.’
“Well, that’s just what they were doing. And all of a sudden,
quicker than a wink, the knapsack burst open and
“Away went the Elephant and the Gnu,
The tall Giraffe and the Kangaroo,
The tawny Tiger and Polar Bear,
And the Buffalo Bull with his shaggy hair.
“‘Come back, come back!’ shouted the bunny boy rabbit.
“‘No, siree!’ answered the Animal Crackers, ‘we’re going back to
our little Cracker Boxes!’ and away they went, leaving the Bunny
Boy Rabbit to fill his knapsack with clover tops or lettuce leaves.”
“Now what shall I do?” cried Little Jack Rabbit.
“Why not visit Uncle John Hare? I’ll pack your clothes in a jiffy,”
suggested the little bunny’s mother, looking up from her ironing.
Pretty soon along came the Old Dog Driver with his billy goat team.
“I shall miss you,” said Lady Love, kissing her bunny boy, as he
hopped into the carriage.
“Goodness gracious meebus, if that isn’t my little bunny nephew!”
shouted dear Uncle Lucky, as the carriage stopped by Lily Pond Lake.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to Uncle John Hare,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“I’ve a package for him and my knapsack is packed full of clothes.
Mother bought me a new tie.”
“What, are you going to make a visit?” asked dear Uncle Lucky,
anxiously. He never could keep away very long from his little rabbit
nephew. Dear me, no! Uncle Lucky was so fond of Little Jack Rabbit
that he wanted to be with him all the time, and even oftener.
“Dear me,” went on poor Uncle Lucky, a lonely feeling spreading all
over him from his toes to his head, “I’ll miss you dreadfully.”
“That’s what mother said this morning when she kissed me good-by,”
answered Little Jack Rabbit.
“Don’t blame her,” said the old gentleman bunny.
“She said something else, too,” added his little rabbit nephew.
“What was it?” asked dear Uncle Lucky.
“She told me to say every morning when I hopped out of bed, ‘Every
day and in every way, I grow better and better.’”
“Don’t forget to do what mother says,” advised Uncle Lucky. “Do what
mother says and you’ll never be sorry.”
[Illustration: “Once upon a time,” she began.]
“Can’t wait much longer,” shouted the Old Dog Driver, knocking the
ashes from his pipe. Then, picking up the lines, he clicked git-ap to
his billy goats and away rattled the carriage.
“I wish Uncle Lucky were coming, too,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, as
they bumped along over the rough road.
[Illustration: The knapsack burst open]
“What did you say, little bunny?” asked a motherly looking lady
goose, one of the passengers on her way to Goose Creek, Meadowland.
“Oh, I was just thinking aloud,” answered the little bunny boy
rabbit. “But what’s the use of wishing? Wishes don’t come true.”
“Sometimes they do,” laughed the nice, kind lady goose, placing
her soft feathered wing around him. “I once had an old grandmother
goose who told me stories. I haven’t forgotten them. Oh, my, no! I
told them to a man and he put them all in a book called “Grandmother
Goosey’s Bedtime Rimes”!
“Tell me one,” said Little Jack Rabbit, sleepily.
“Once upon a time,” began the kind lady goose, but before she could
say another word the bunny boy was sound asleep.
By and by the Old Dog Driver shouted, “Turnip City! All out!”
Sure enough, it was Turnip City! Just across Lettuce Square on the
front porch of his pretty white house stood Uncle John Hare and
behind him in the doorway, Mrs. Daisy Duck, his nice old housekeeper.
“Good-by,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, taking off his cap to the Old
Lady Goose. Then away he hopped across the square and up the walk
that led from the little white gate to the front piazza of Uncle
John’s neat little bungalow.
“Well, I’m glad to see you,” cried the nice old gentleman bunny,
patting his small nephew on the head.
“And so am I,” quacked Mrs. Daisy Duck. “Now there’ll be somebody
young and frisky in the house.”
“What, am I growing so old?” asked Uncle John Hare, hopping about on
the piazza with Little Jack Rabbit.
[Illustration: “I feel only twenty-one.”]
“I feel only twenty one
Or maybe twenty two.
I’m only just a kid at heart,
The same as little you,”
he sang, smiling at his small bunny nephew.
“Quack, quack, quack!
I’ve a little country shack,
With cheese and crackers on the shelf
To which I take my tired self,”
sang Mrs. Daisy Duck.
“It’s down by the Old Duck Pond,” whispered Uncle John Hare. “Mrs.
Daisy Duck thinks I don’t know, but one day I hop-tiptoed after her.
Don’t tell her, I think she has a nest in her little shack. Maybe
someday there’ll be a brood of ducklings.”
“What are you whispering about?” asked the old lady duck, with a
quack and a flap of her wings. “Secrets?”
“Maybe,” answered the old gentleman bunny. “Or, perhaps, advice. Give
you three guesses.”
“Haven’t time,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, bustling out to the kitchen
to look at the lollypop stew and carrot cake. “I must think about
supper.”
“Come to your own little room,” said Uncle John Hare, leading the way
up the winding stair. His little rabbit nephew followed, his knapsack
swinging over his shoulder and his striped candy cane dangling from
his elbow.
“There,” exclaimed the dear old gentleman hare, throwing open the
door, “nothing has been changed except the calendar. Every day I tore
off the date, saying to myself, ‘Perhaps to-morrow he’ll come again
to visit his old uncle.’ It came true this morning, so it did,” and
with a happy sigh the loving old bunny hare sat down in the rocking
chair.
“Yes, your little room has been kept just the same for you,” he went
on, “and you must make a long, long visit this time.”
“Oh, I will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit, with a laugh. “Mother said
I might stay as long as you wanted me.”
“Well, that won’t be long enough,” answered Uncle John Hare. “Come,
part your hair down the middle of your back and wash your paws for
supper. I smell the lollypop stew.”
It took little Jack Rabbit less than two and a half minutes to make
himself spick and span. Then with a hop, skip and a jump he followed
his nice old Uncle to the dining room where Mrs. Daisy Duck had a
lovely supper waiting for them.
Perhaps you’d like to hear what was on the table. Lots of little
boys and girls don’t know what rabbits eat, I imagine. Well, there
was carrot cake and lettuce marmalade, carrot jelly and turnip tea,
lollypop stew and cabbage custard. A mighty nice sort of a supper for
anybody, seems to me.
Just as they were finishing the cabbage custard there came a loud
knocking at the front door.
“Who can it be?” asked Uncle John Hare.
“I’ll soon find out,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, waddling out of the
room with her napkin under her left wing.
“Is Mr. John Hare at home?” inquired a loud voice.
“Yes, I’m here,” answered the old gentleman bunny, hopping out into
the hall. But when he saw who was calling he wished he had hidden in
the cellar. There stood the Ragged Rabbit Giant. You could see only
the tops of his boots, for they were as high as the front door. Why,
his waistcoat was even with the roof of the little white house and
his gold chain tinkled against the red brick chimney every time he
leaned down to speak to Mrs. Daisy Duck.
“What can I do for you?” asked Uncle John Hare, as soon as he had
caught his breath. “I’d invite you into supper, only you couldn’t
accept. Maybe you’d like me to hand you out a cabbage cup custard.
Mrs. Daisy Duck is quite famous for her cabbage cup custards.”
“No, I don’t want any custard,” answered the Ragged Rabbit Giant. “I
don’t like sweet things. Have you a cabbage leaf cigar?”
“Wait a minute. I think I have,” answered the old gentleman hare in a
trembly voice, hopping back into the sitting room.
Pretty soon the giant grew restless. He shuffled his big feet, looked
at his watch and then all of a sudden shouted, “Hurry up with that
cabbage leaf cigar. I could have walked to Cuba in my seven league
boots by this time for a good Smokerino.”
Dear, dear me! I’ve been dreadfully worried while dear Uncle John
Hare has been hunting for a cabbage leaf cigar for fear he wouldn’t
be able to find it. I don’t know what I’d do if a Ragged Rabbit Giant
was waiting outside my little white house on the corner of Lettuce
Square and Turnip Street, Turnip City.
“I’ve found it,” answered poor Uncle John Hare, hopping out with
Little Jack Rabbit to the front porch.
“Bless my stars!” exclaimed the giant, looking at the little bunny
boy as he lighted the cigar, “if this isn’t Lady Love’s little
rabbit. Howdy, young bunny. I must be going home. Good-by. Come
to see me soon,” and away stalked the big rabbitman in his seven
league boots to his castle on Tip Top, Sky-high Mountain, under the
stars, for it would be night-time when he arrived home, although he
could cover almost a mile every time he took a stride, and when he
jumped,—dear me, I can’t figure how much space he covered,—maybe
three times a mile.
“Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” said Mrs. Daisy Duck from her hiding
place. “I declare, my heart beat so loudly I mistook it for the Old
Grandfather Clock. Dear, dearie me! I don’t like such great big bunny
men. Little ones are nicer,” and hugging Little Jack Rabbit, she gave
him a cough drop from a little box she carried in her calico apron
pocket.
By and by, after Uncle John Hare had finished smoking his cabbage
leaf cigar, he said to his small nephew:
“Let’s have a game of pinochle.”
But, goodness me! The little rabbit was so drowsy that he could
hardly keep his eyes open and pretty soon he let all the cards drop
to the floor.
“Hoity toity!” exclaimed Uncle John Hare, looking up. But when he saw
that the Sand Man had filled his nephew’s eyes with Dream Dust he
covered up the little bunny boy and let him sleep where he was until
morning.
BUNNY TALE 29
THE MESSENGER
Wake up, wake up! It’s morning now,
The Farmer is milking the little black cow,
The Rooster is blowing his shiny tin horn
And Billy Breeze’s whistling a tune in the corn.
Goodness me! Up jumped Little Jack Rabbit. You remember that the
tired little bunny boy had been too sleepy to hop upstairs after
playing a game of pinochle with Uncle John Hare, and had fallen
asleep in a big arm chair for the night. That’s where we left him,
and now we find him wide awake.
“Hurry up, the buckwheat cake
Is sizzling hot upon your plate.
If you don’t hurry Mrs. Mouse
May take it to her tiny house,”
quacked Mrs. Daisy Duck, the old gentleman hare’s housekeeper.
“I’ll hurry,” answered the little rabbit boy, and in less than a
jiffy he had combed his hair down the middle of his back, washed his
paws and repeated the little verse that Lady Love, his pretty bunny
mother, had taught him:
“Every day in every way, I grow better and better.”
After that he and his big appetite hopped into the dining room. There
stood dear Uncle John Hare, looking over the _Turnip City News_.
“Well, how did you sleep?” he asked, gazing up over his spectacles.
“Tip top,” replied his small bunny nephew. “I never heard a thing
until the Big Red Rooster went ‘cock-a-doodle-do’ on his little tin
horn. I guess he woke me up.”
“I imagine so,” replied the old gentleman bunny, with a twinkle in
his eye. “My, but you were tired last night after your long ride.
Let’s see what Mrs. Daisy Duck has for us.”
Then down sat the two little rabbits as the nice old lady duck
waddled in with carrot coffee, clover cereal and buckwheat cakes
covered with pink lollypop syrup. Oh, me, oh, my! wasn’t the
breakfast good! Well I guess yes three times and maybe four.
Just then somebody knocked on the door, one, two, three, bingo!
“Who’s that, I wonder?” exclaimed Uncle John Hare.
“I’ll see,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck. “You go on with your breakfast.
Most likely it’s the gas man with a bill.”
But it wasn’t. No, it was somebody else, only worse. I guess
sometimes we ought to be thankful it’s only the gas man!
“Who is it?” asked the old gentleman bunny, as Mrs. Daisy Duck
returned with a worried expression on her face and a piece of paper
in her bill.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear! It seems to me
That Mr. Trouble Man
Is always knocking on the door
As loudly as he can,”
answered Mrs. Daisy Duck.
“Who is it and what does he want and what’s his name?” asked the old
gentleman hare, pulling the napkin from under his chin to wipe his
gold-rimmed spectacles instead of his whiskers. Wasn’t that careless
of him? Well I should say so, especially as there wasn’t a drop of
syrup on them,—I mean his spectacles of course, not his whiskers.
“Read this note,” whispered Mrs. Daisy Duck, looking anxiously over
her shoulder as if fearing somebody or something might suddenly come
in through the half open door.
Uncle John Hare quickly opened the envelope and read:
“I want a million carrot cents
And I want them mighty quick,
Just hand them to my messenger
Or he’ll hit you with my stick!”
“Dear, oh, dear!” exclaimed the poor old gentleman bunny, dropping
this dreadful note on the carpet, “what shall I do?”
“Do something quick,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, glancing timidly
over her shoulder. Indeed she had already almost twisted her long
neck into a bowknot.
[Illustration: “Twice to the left, three to the right!”]
“All right,” answered the old gentleman hare with a sigh, hopping
over to a big iron safe in the corner and squatting down to turn back
and forth the little silver knob. Over the door was printed in big
gold letters:
“John Hare.
Turnip City.”
But, dear me! He was so nervous that the door wouldn’t obey his
trembling paw. Over and over, around and around, he turned the
little knob, repeating the combination half aloud:
“Twice to the left, three to the right!
Then stop at the spot where it says ‘Good night!’”
Just then a loud knocking came at the kitchen door.
“Please hurry,” cried the frightened lady duck housekeeper, looking
anxiously into the kitchen. “The messenger is at the back door.”
“Dear, dear! I’m all muddled up!” cried the old gentleman hare.
“Bing, bang, bung!
Your doorbell I have rung,
Now if my knocking you don’t hear
I’ll rattle every chandelier!”
shouted a voice.
“Wait, wait a minute,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck through the keyhole.
“Mr. John Hare is trying to open his safe. You make so much noise he
can’t find the combination.”
For a little while the knocking ceased. But, dear me! Uncle John Hare
couldn’t remember the combination. Scratching his long left ear with
his right hind foot, he turned to Little Jack Rabbit with a sigh.
“Maybe you can unlock it.”
But the little rabbit boy was no more successful. No indeed,
although he turned the knob around and started all over again. I
guess he never would have found the combination if Bobbie Redvest,
the dear little friendly robin, hadn’t hopped to the open window.
“Pull the little knob out just one inch,
Then say to yourself, ‘Why, it’s a cinch!’
Next, turn the knob to figure four
And you’ll have no trouble with the iron door,”
he whispered.
At once the little rabbit followed the pretty robin’s directions and
in less time than I can take to tell it, the safe door flew open and
out rolled a million carrot cents, each one counting out loud as
it touched the floor! “One, Two, Three,” and so on, right up to a
million! Wasn’t that wonderful? Well, I just guess it was. I never
had a Flying Eagle Cent that could count more than one!
“Get a bag,” whispered Uncle John Hare, and filling it with carrot
cents that good lady duck housekeeper opened the kitchen door, and
handed it to an ugly little dwarf.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, touching his red peaked hat with a
crooked forefinger. Then slinging the bag over his shoulder, he
trudged around the house and through the little gateway in the white
picket fence to the Fairy Forest that lay some two thousand hops to
the North of Turnip City.
“Has he gone?” asked Uncle John Hare, dusting off his knees and
pulling down his pink waistcoat. “Are you sure he’s gone?”
“Yes, yes,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, with a happy quack. “He’s gone,
thank goodness! I hope he’ll not come back for many a year.”
[Illustration: “Thank you, ma’am,” he said.]
“Never can tell,” mused the old gentleman rabbit. “The Ragged Rabbit
Giant will return more than a million carrot cents in less time than
that.”
“Trust the fairies,” cautioned Bobbie Redvest. “They have asked the
giant to lend them money,” and away fluttered the little bird to the
old apple tree.
But even after Bobbie Redvest had cautioned Little Jack Rabbit that
curious little bunny boy wanted to hop over to the Fairy Forest.
“No, sireebus!” cried Uncle John Hare. “You do what that little robin
says and you’ll not go far wrong.”
“All right, Uncle John,” answered the little bunny boy cheerfully,
for he was a good little rabbit and had learned to obey his elders
without sulking, which is the better way, after all. For when we do
a thing with a smile it’s so much easier. I wonder why, but maybe
you know, little reader. If not, Mother will tell you, as sure as
lollypops come on sticks and ice cream in cones.
Well, the little bunny boy rabbit had a lovely visit and when it came
time for him to take the Stagecoach home he kissed Uncle John Hare
good-by, nor did he forget Mrs. Daisy Duck. “Good-by, good-by!” he
shouted from his seat beside the Old Dog Driver.
“Come again soon,” cried the old gentleman hare, waving his stovepipe
hat. “Give my love to Mother.”
Away rattled the Billy Goat Stage Coach across Lettuce Square, down
Potato Street and out on Radish Road that led to Rabbitville, fifteen
thousand five hundred hops to the south.
By and by the Old Dog Driver took his pipe out of his mouth and
shouted, “Carrot City!” Then pulling in his team of billy goats,
waited for an old gander to alight. It took the old feathered
gentleman quite a while to flop down the two little steps at the
back of the stage, but at last he was safely on the ground. Then as
soon as a fat lady pig, wearing a purple sunbonnet and black mitts,
had seated herself, the Old Dog Driver clicked his teeth with his
tongue and said “Gid-ap!”
Away bounded the billy goat team, shaking their horns, which were
tipped with little gold thimbles, and throwing out their hoofs,
shod with bright steel shoes. By and by they came to Lettucemere, a
pretty village by the Bubbling Brook. Here the Lady Pig got out and
in jumped a big mooly cow. Mrs. O’Mooly was her name. She wore a big
yellow hat and a pink shirt waist and on her two hind feet a pair of
white kid boots. My, but she was a stylish looking lady cow.
“Gid-ap!” clicked the Old Dog Driver, and away went the nimble little
billy goats until by and by, after a while, and a bump and a smile,
they came to the Old Bramble Patch. There at the gate stood Lady
Love, the little rabbit’s pretty mother. Her simple gingham dress
with white lace collar seemed a beautiful gown to the little rabbit,
and her eyes two stars as she folded him to her breast and whispered,
“Home again to Mother.”
_Dear Little Boys and Girls:_
_Are you lonely because you and I have reached the end of the
story? Come closer. I’ve a secret to whisper. Already I have begun
to write “Little Jack Rabbit’s Big Red Book.” When it is finished
won’t we have a happy time reading it?_
_Your loving_
_Uncle Dave._
_Old Bramble Patch, Rabbitville,
Happy Days, 1924._
[Illustration:
Meet Uncle Lucky,
Kind and plucky.
Yours for a story
David Cory.]
[Illustration:
Heres Little Jack Rabbit
With a lollypop habit
Yours for a story
David Cory.]
Transcriber’s Notes
pg 189 Changed: master is kind and let’s
to: master is kind and lets
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