Chapter V: Part 5

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.

“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.

“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.”

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.

“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!’”

“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.”

“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.’