Chapter II: Part 2

“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.”

“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.

“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.

“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.

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.

“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?”

“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.