Chapter VI: Part 6

“‘I don’t believe you,’ shouted the little cricket, who couldn’t understand how the fairy queen rabbit lady could make him into such a nice-looking bunnyman.

“‘You get out of here! No one shall touch our master’s things,’ commanded the little fly, stinging the rabbitman on his long left ear.

“‘Dear, dear me,’ he said, ‘how am I to convince these two that I am really the Ragged Rabbit Giant, only changed into some one nicer looking.’

“‘We always liked our Ragged Rabbit Giant,’ said the little cricket. ‘He was good to us. He fed and sheltered and never drove us away. Oh, yes, he was kind and good, and we expect him back any minute, so you’d better get out. He can pick you up with one hand and throw you a mile.’

“‘Dear, dear me!’ sighed the rabbitman. ‘I’m worse off than I was before. I’ve lost two dear kind friends. The only friends I ever had.’

“Just then who should come in but the fairy lady bunny.

“‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Why, Mr. Rabbitman, you seem more lonely than when a Ragged Rabbit Giant.’

“‘I am,’ he answered sadly. ‘My two little friends, the only two friends I’ve ever known, don’t rec-og-nize me. Please turn me back into a ragged rabbit. I’d rather be ragged and homely than lose these two little friends.’

“‘You shan’t lose them,’ she laughed. ‘Let me explain,’ and turning to the wondering little fly and cricket, in a few minutes they couldn’t help but believe the lovely fairy rabbit bunny queen, and they saw again their Ragged Rabbit Giant master, clean-shaven, well clothed and handsome. Yes, he was the same, only different.

“In a short time he repaired his big bungalow, weeded the garden and cut the grass. Soon all the bunny boys and rabbit girls stopped to see him on their way home from school. They called him ‘Uncle Raggedy,’ although he wasn’t ragged any more. But he didn’t mind, for his big heart was full of love for all little people.

“Now, that’s all,” said the Big Brown Bear, with a yawn.

“Thank you very much,” cried the little bunny, “I must be going.” On the way Danny Fox and Mr. Wicked Wolf spied him. But while they were fighting it out between them away he hopped back to the dear Old Bramble Patch.

BUNNY TALE 24

GRANDDADDY BULLFROG

Granddaddy Bullfrog was a wise sort of a person. He rarely spoke, but when he did he always said something worth while.

“Good morning,” shouted Little Jack Rabbit one sunshiny forenoon, stopping at the Old Duck Pond where the Old Gentleman Frog was sitting on a log.

“It’s a good morning if you have helped your mother with her work,” answered Granddaddy Bullfrog.

“I have,” replied the little bunny boy. “I’ve polished the front doorknob, fed the canary and filled the woodbox with kindling.”

“You’re a good little bunny boy,” answered the wise old frog. “When I was a tadpole I worked hard for my mother, but it never hurt me. No, siree!” and Granddaddy Bullfrog smoothed down the wrinkle in his white waistcoat and wiped his spectacles on a clean piece of meadow grass.

“You said, ‘When you were a tadpole.’ Does that mean when you were a boy?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.

“Yes, sir, that’s what it means,” replied the old gentleman frog, snapping up a fly that ventured too near the big log.

Just then Mrs. Oriole from her nest in the Weeping Willow Tree began to sing:

“Up here in my stocking-like nest we swing,
My little birdies and I.
We are content ’neath our willow tent
To sing as the day goes by.”

“When will your little birds learn to fly?” asked the curious bunny boy rabbit.

“As soon as their wings are strong and well feathered,” answered the pretty lady bird mother. “It won’t be long.”

“Ker dunk, ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog.

“Don’t you like cabbage leaf cigars?” asked the little bunny boy, as the old gentleman frog wiped a tear from his left eye.

“Not so bad,” he answered. “But I can’t catch flies and smoke at the same time!”

Just then along came a buzzy bluebottle fly. Out dropped the cabbage leaf cigar as Granddaddy Bullfrog opened his mouth. Sputter, sputter! and the big cigar floated away, frightening Taddy Tadpole almost to death.

“Don’t you ever start smoking,” advised the old gentleman frog. “Cabbage is good to eat, but it makes poor cigars.”

“I never will,” answered the little bunny boy. “Mother doesn’t like it.”

Pretty soon Granddaddy Bullfrog closed his eyes. Thinking he was asleep, the bunny boy hopped away up the Old Cow Path, over the hill, till by and by, after a while, and a song and a smile, he came to the Big Red Barn, on the top of which stood the Weathercock on his gilded toe.

“It’s going to rain,
It’s going to rain.
Billy Breeze is
Singing a low refrain.
The swallows are flying
Swift and low.
I must point to the East
With my weather toe!”

sang the Weathercock, whirling about to point at the big black clouds creeping over the bright blue sky.

“Dear me!” thought the bunny boy, “I must borrow an umbrella. However, just then he spied a large toadstool.

“That will do!” he laughed, and holding it over his head, he quickly hopped away.

“Cock-a-doodle do,
The grass is wet with dew.
But soon it will be dry again
Unless the sunshine turns to rain,”

sang Cocky Doodle, the happy little rooster.

“I’m going for a swim,” quacked Ducky Waddles, and off he went through the gate and across the Sunny Meadow to the Old Duck Pond, where all day long the blue Darning Needles skimmed over the water.

“Good morning,” quacked the wabbly little duck.

“The same to you,” answered the old gentleman frog, “fine day if it doesn’t rain.”

“I don’t care if it does,” answered Ducky Waddles, paddling off from the shore like a green-feathered ferryboat.

“I don’t mind the gentle rain,
It helps the flowers and the grain,
It makes the Bubbling Brook run free
Across the meadow to the sea.”

“Well, well, well,” cried Granddaddy Bullfrog. “What have we here? A duck poet?”

But Ducky Waddles was out of hearing by this time. Well, I should say yes, twice over. He was standing on his head, trying to catch a little fish that shimmered in the water.

“What did you say?” asked Mrs. Oriole from her stocking-like nest in the Weeping Willow Tree.

“I just remarked that we had a poet in Ducky Waddles,” answered Granddaddy Bullfrog. “Did you hear him answer me in rime?”

“No, I didn’t,” replied Mrs. Oriole. “I was busy with the children. But I heard you say something about a duck poet. I should say he was an acrobat. Look at him now,” and Mrs. Oriole pointed to Ducky Waddles still standing on his head in the water.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Granddaddy Bullfrog. “He’s fishing, that’s what he’s doing.”

Pretty soon along came Teddy Turtle with his strong shell house on his back. He didn’t have to worry about hotels in the summer. No, indeed! He carried his little bungalow on his back and stopped wherever he wanted to. Yes, sir. He could go to Newport or Narragansett Pier for the summer if he wished, I dare say. But I’m not quite sure.

“Is that Ducky Waddles out there in the pond?” asked the little turtle.

“Yes, that’s who it is,” replied Granddaddy Bullfrog, “he’s catching fish and I’m catching flies and the sun is shining up in the skies.”

“Dear me,” thought Teddy Turtle. “Granddaddy Bullfrog is talking poetry. I’d better be going,” and off he went.

But, oh, dear me! Just as the little turtle crawled away from the Old Duck Pond all of a sudden, just like that, a shadow came across the sun. Into the pond went Granddaddy Bullfrog and into his shell house went Teddy Turtle’s head and tail.

“Oh, pshaw!” cried Hungry Hawk, for it was his shadow that had fallen on the meadow as he passed between the sun and the slow crawling turtle. “I thought I had you this time.”

“Did you?” asked Teddy Turtle from the inside of his shell. “Maybe you would if I hadn’t pulled in my head and tail.”

“Now what am I going to do for dinner?” asked the old robber bird.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” replied Teddy Turtle. “Just fly away, will you?”

“Maybe,” answered Hungry Hawk.

“Where are you?” asked Teddy Turtle after a few moments, carefully pushing out his head, but only a little way, you know. But no one answered. So the little turtle pushed out his head a little more, trying his best to look three or four ways all at once.

“Look out! Look out!” whispered Billy Breeze.

“That’s what I’m doing,” answered the little turtle. “Only I’m afraid to look out too far.”

“Be careful, be careful,” whispered Billy Breeze.

“What did you say?” asked Teddy Turtle. “I can’t hear very well inside my shell house.”

“Be careful, be careful!” whispered Billy Breeze.

But, dear me! Teddy Turtle was getting curious. Yes, sir, he was getting so curious that he just couldn’t keep his head indoors any longer.

“Look out!” shouted Billy Breeze. But, oh, dear me! It was too late. Robber Hawk had already grabbed the little turtle’s head.

“Let me go! Let me go!” begged the frightened little turtle.

“No, sir!” answered the cruel hawk. “I’m going to take you home to my wife,” and up he flew in the air. But, goodness me! He soon found out what a heavy thing a turtle is. Pretty soon the old hawk’s wings grew tired. Oh, very weary, indeed.

“I must rest,” he said to himself, turning toward an old dead tree near the edge of the Shady Forest.

“Let me go! Let me go!” again and again begged Teddy Turtle.

“Be still, will you?” answered the old robber bird, doing his best to keep his balance on the limb of the dead tree and at the same time hold on to the wiggly jiggly little turtle.

“No, I won’t,” answered Teddy Turtle, with another wiggle and a jiggle, and maybe a wiggle-jiggle-jiggle after that.

But, try as he might, he couldn’t wiggle loose from the bad hawk’s claws. Pretty soon the old bird flew off again with the little turtle.

“Wiggle, jiggle all you can.
Wiggle like a wrestling man.
Keep on wiggling till you’re free,
Wiggle like a jumping flea,”

shouted Billy Breeze.

“Stop talking to Teddy Turtle,” screamed Hungry Hawk, by this time out of breath and nearly ready to drop.

“Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle!” again shouted Billy Breeze.

Then Teddy Turtle wiggled and jiggled and jiggled and wiggled until all of a sudden, just like that, Hungry Hawk couldn’t hold him a minute longer. Down dropped the little turtle right into the Bubbling Brook and off went Hungry Hawk to rest his weary wings in a near-by tree.

“Look out for him when he’s rested,” whispered Billy Breeze.

“I’ll swim away,” answered Teddy Turtle, and down the stream he went as fast as he could go. Pretty soon he came to a nice deep place under a shelving bank. Here he hid for a long time. And maybe he would be hiding there yet if Billy Breeze hadn’t been on the lookout.

“The old hawk has flown away,” he whispered, dancing over the tall water grass that stood barefoot in the cool water.

“Are you sure?” asked the little turtle, anxiously. “I don’t want to be caught again. Dear me, but my neck is scratched. Hungry Hawk has sharp claws.”

“Oh, yes, he’s gone. He’s flown away. Maybe he’s home by this time,” answered Billy Breeze.

Teddy Turtle waited a few minutes longer, then swam boldly down the Bubbling Brook towards the Shady Forest. “Dear me, it’s a long way to Busy Beaver’s home, but I’ll be safe there, I know.”

BUNNY TALE 25

LUCKYMOBILING

Heigh ho, how the winds blow
This cool November day.
The leaves are turning yellow and red
And the clouds are scurrying overhead
Like little ships out on the bay.

“That’s a beautiful poem,” thought Uncle Lucky, looking up from his morning paper as Reddy Comb, the rooster newsboy, strutted away.

Just then Little Jack Rabbit came hopping up the path.

“Let’s make a call on somebody,” suddenly suggested the old gentleman bunny.

“All right, but not on Grandmother Magpie,” answered the bunny boy, climbing into the Luckymobile.

“No, indeed,” replied kind Uncle Lucky. “She’s too meddlesome.”

Quickly turning down a road leading away from the Shady Forest, in which the old lady magpie had her home, they soon came to a little log hut in a cornfield.

“I wonder who lives there,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit. “I never saw that little house before,” and stopping the Luckymobile, he hopped over to the little log hut to knock on the door. The next moment it was opened by their friend, the Scarecrow.

“Well, well, well,” he cried. “I’m glad to see you. Come in and sit down.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” shouted Uncle Lucky to his bunny nephew.

But imagine the old gentleman rabbit’s surprise to find Turkey Tim in the little log hut.

“What, you here!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. All of a sudden poor Turkey Tim began to cry.

“He’s afraid of Thanksgiving,” explained the Scarecrow. “But I’ll hide him here till Spring.”

“Dear, oh, dear!” gasped astonished Uncle Lucky. “I’m glad you’re so kind. Dearest me, I’m flustered! I didn’t know you lived here.”

“To be sure I do now that summer time is over,” answered the Scarecrow. “You don’t think I’d stay out in the cornfield all winter?”

“Yes, what would be the use?” agreed Uncle Lucky. “Besides, you might catch your death of cold.”

“That’s just it,” answered the Scarecrow.

“My clothes are very old and worn
And one of the pockets badly torn.
The wind would blow through a hole in my coat
And give me a terrible frog in my throat.”

“Come with us,” invited Uncle Lucky. “It’s a beautiful day for a ride. Don’t you think so?”

With a happy smile, the Scarecrow took down his old hat from the wooden peg behind the door and, pinning his coat around him, for the buttons were all gone, you know, told Turkey Tim he’d be back shortly.

As soon as dear Uncle Lucky had honked the horn three times and a half, away they went down to the Three-in-One Cent Store to buy a toothbrush. You see, the Scarecrow had forgotten all about it when moving into the little log hut in the middle of the cornfield.

“And now where shall we go?” asked Uncle Lucky, as the Scarecrow once more seated himself in the Luckymobile, for it hadn’t taken him nearly as long to buy the toothbrush as it had his last Liberty Bond!

“Let’s call on the Tailor Bird. We ought to get measured for our winter overcoats.” So they turned down a road leading to Birdville, a pretty little town not far away. Well, by and by, after a mile and a laugh and a smile, they came to the Tailor Bird’s Shop on the corner of Twitter Avenue and Chirp Street. There on a little bench in front of the store, sat the Tailor Bird himself, although it was the first of November.

No sooner did this in-dus-tri-ous bird see the two little rabbits in the Luckymobile than he began to sing:

“Stitch, stitch, stitch away,
I’m busy sewing all the day
I hardly have a chance to sing.
My needle uses up the string
So fast I haven’t time to play.
Why, I can’t even stop to say,
‘Good Morning, it’s a pleasant day!’”

And the Tailor Bird made his needle go so fast that Uncle Lucky couldn’t tell on whose overcoat the old bird was sewing buttons.

“I guess I’ll get along with my old one,” said the old gentleman rabbit, and, waving good-by to the Tailor Bird, he soon reached Cottontail Square, where they found a big crowd gathered around the statues of Uncle Sam and Aunt Columbia.

“What’s all this about?” asked the old gentleman, curiously.

“I’ll enquire,” answered the Scarecrow, standing up on the rear seat. Just then a bunny man, carrying in his arms a little boy rabbit, pushed his way out.

“Dear, dear! is he hurt?” anxiously asked dear, kind Uncle Lucky.

“No, no!” shouted back the bunny man. “It’s Tinkle Timmy, the fairy bunny child. He’s only frightened. I’m taking him back to the Fairy Glen.”

“You have a kind heart,” said Uncle Lucky. “Come around to the bank to-morrow. Maybe we need a porter.”

Then away drove the old gentleman bunny. Pretty soon they came to the Farmyard.

“Bow, wow!” barked Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog.

“Come here, I want to whisper in your ear,” said the old gentleman rabbit, leaning out of the Luckymobile.

“Look out for Danny Fox to-night,
He’s coming here when the moon is bright
To steal a chicken for a stew,
So catch him by his curlicue,”

he whispered to the old watch-dog as he stood on his tip toes.

“Where is his curlicue?” asked Old Sic’em.

“Oh, I mean his bushy tail,” laughed Uncle Lucky, “but as tail doesn’t always rime in poetry I said “cue” instead.”

“All right,” answered Old Sic’em. “I’ll be on the lookout,” and with a wag of his curlicue,—beg pardon, I mean his long thin tail, he said good-by. Then away went the Luckymobile so fast that it nearly ran over a man who mended old tin pails, wash boilers and maybe other things.

“Helloa, there!” shouted Uncle Lucky, “can you mend a hole in my woolen sock?”

“Don’t you poke fun at me,” answered the tin man with a dreadful angry look, “rabbits don’t wear stockings!” But when Uncle Lucky handed him a ten carrot gold piece the tin man began to smile.

Pretty soon the old gentleman bunny spied a great tremendous pumpkin in a cornfield.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky to the Luckymobile, which stopped just like that, only maybe a little quicker. “Let’s take the pumpkin home with us.” But, dear me! how disappointed he was after hopping over the fence. The pumpkin was so heavy that dear Uncle Lucky couldn’t lift it to save his whiskers. Neither could Little Jack Rabbit.

“What shall we do?” asked the little bunny.

All of a sudden the Old Scarecrow, who had been sound asleep all this time, woke up.

“Let me help you,” he said and, jumping out, lifted the pumpkin up in his arms into the Luckymobile without even scratching the shell.

As soon as the Scarecrow was seated, away they went and pretty soon, not so very far, nor so very long, they came to a cross road. Right there stood a big sign post on which was written:

“To Rabbitville, 1 mile
To Lettuce Hills, 2 miles
To Turnip City, 3 miles.”

“Gracious me!” cried Little Jack Rabbit. “I don’t know where I’d rather go.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Professor Crow, just then flying by with his little Wisdom Book in his left claw.

“Now listen to me
For a minute or three,”

and turning to page one, oh, oh! he read aloud:

“Never hurry, never worry,
Never rush and never scurry.
Start in time and you’ll get there;
So the tortoise beat the hare.”

“Where did you get your wonderful little Wisdom Book?” asked Uncle Lucky, taking off his goggles and scratching his left ear with his right hind foot.

“That’s my secret,” answered the old black bird, with a smile, winking his little black eyes and curling his feathers with his beak.

“I wish I had a Wisdom Book,” went on the old gentleman rabbit. “It’s full of good things.”

“I’ll tell you something since you’re so fond of my little book. I’ve written in it all the good things I’ve heard. You see, when I first bought it at the Three-in-One Cent Store, it was only full of white pages, but now it’s full of wise things,” answered the old crow, glancing up over his spectacles. All of a sudden he took out his fountain pen and shouted: “Listen! I’ve just thought of something:

“Frogs from little Tadpoles grow!”

Then with a bang he closed his book and, snapping his bill, flapped his wings and flew away, but where he went I cannot say.

“Why didn’t we ask him which road to take?” sighed the Scarecrow, looking up at the sign-post. “I don’t know anybody in Lettuce Hill and what’s the use of going to Rabbitville when you two little rabbits are here and not there. I’m sure I don’t want to go to Turnip City. My wife’s mother now lives there and for me she doesn’t care.”

“All right,” laughed kind Uncle Lucky, “let’s go home—the best place of all,” and turning the Luckymobile to the right, after a while, and more than a mile, and maybe a smile, they met a funny Little Donkey with two baskets over his back, one on each side.

“The Rooster sings his cock-ado,
The Old Cow sometimes gives a moo,
The Big Brown Horse will answer neigh,
But what does the Little Donkey say
When he puts back his ears and gives a bray?”

“What does he say?” asked Uncle Lucky, making the Luckymobile trot by the side of the Little Donkey as nicely as you please.

“He says: ‘Look out for my heels!’” laughed the little long-eared animal, throwing out his hind legs to show how high he could kick. But, oh, dear me! He should have known better, for out rolled the carrots all over the road.

Out hopped dear Uncle Lucky, kind Little Jack Rabbit and the nice old Scarecrow to help him pick them up. As soon as the baskets were filled and fastened on straight, for they were all wiggly waggly, you know, the Little Donkey said:

“Next time I’ll think before I kick
And look before I leap,
And lock the stable door before
I lay me down to sleep.”

“Come in with us,” said kind Uncle Lucky. “We’re going your way.”

Carefully climbing in, the Little Donkey set down the baskets of carrots. Pretty soon on reaching a little green barn he shouted:

“I live right here. Come, stay awhile. Although I live in a barn I have nice things. Besides, I own three Liberty Bonds and a cigar coupon. Oh, yes, I’m a patriotic donkey. My two brothers went to France with the U. S. Army,” and, pointing to a small iron safe in one corner, he added in a whisper, “That’s where I keep my money.”

“You can’t beat me,” said the Scarecrow. And would you believe it? He put his hand in his inside coat pocket and drew out three Liberty Bonds! Yes, sir, he did! “And I’m not going to sell them, either,” he added, pinning his overcoat carefully over his waistcoat.

“If you’ll wait a minute while I put the carrots in the pantry,” said the Little Donkey, “I’ll come back and make you some nice candy.”

At once the little rabbits and the Scarecrow sat down and waited until the Little Donkey returned with some maple sugar, a lemon lollypop and a chocolate caramel. Filling a saucepan with water, he soon had a wonderful candy boiling on the stove. After it was all done he put it down the well to cool, and when it was hard and nice he gave a piece to the little rabbits and another piece to the Scarecrow, who said it was much finer than any he had ever tasted from the Three-in-One Cent Store.

By and by Uncle Lucky, looking at his watch, said it was time to leave and, thanking the Little Donkey for a pleasant time, the old gentleman rabbit hopped into the Luckymobile.

“You can drop me off at the cornfield,” said the Scarecrow. “Turkey Tim must be lonesome by this time.”

And shortly after the two little rabbits were safe at home for the night.

BUNNY TALE 26

THE RACE

The Big Brown Bear, the Yellow Dog Tramp, and Sammy Skunk, Esq., of Sleepy Hollow, were playing pinochle in a little log cabin.

Just then who should come along in the Luckymobile but Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot, the dear old gentleman bunny rabbit.

“Honk, honk!” went his horn and “Hello, hello!” he shouted, stopping all of a sudden, just like that, quick as a wink, right in front of the little log hut. “Who’ll be the next President?” and in he hopped to shake hands with his Shady Forest friends.

“Hope you’ll be,” answered all three with a smile, for everybody likes Uncle Lucky. Oh, my, yes!

“My, but you fellows look all mussed up,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit.

“We couldn’t look spick and span after the fight we’ve just had with Mr. Wicked Wolf and Danny Fox,” replied the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Of course my clothes are not of the latest style nor just pressed. But to wrestle with Danny Fox would make a dress suit look like a pair of overalls,—and maybe worse.”

“Come, jump into the Luckymobile,” said the old gentleman bunny, with a kind smile. “I’ll take you all for a ride.”

In climbed the Big Brown Bear and the Yellow Dog Tramp, but Sammy Skunk suddenly remembered he had an errand to do.

“I can’t go,” he apologized. “I must get a spool of cotton for Mrs. Skunk at the Three-in-One Cent Store.”

“Maybe I can drop you there,” suggested kind Uncle Lucky. But Sammy Skunk wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, no! Some other time,” he shouted, as he hurried off in the opposite direction.

“Well, where shall we go?” asked considerate Uncle Lucky, honking the horn before he put on his goggles. Then fastening his blue silk polkadot handkerchief over his old wedding stovepipe hat and under his chin and winding his gold watch and chain, he started up the Luckymobile, his two friends on the back seat smiling away as if they were going to the circus or a baseball game at Carrot City.

After a while and a bump and a smile and maybe a laugh or three, there came into view a big kangaroo and a fat old bumblebee.

Dear, dear! Why didn’t my typewriter put this pretty rhyme into verse. I guess it forgot I’m a poet!

“Stop, stop!” shouted the Kangaroo. “If you don’t I’ll give a hop and a jump and perhaps a skip or two and land myself right in the Luckymobile. I can jump much farther than you.”

“Yes, you have long hind legs,” smiled Uncle Lucky, re-flec-tive-ly, which means thinking hard while you speak. “You’re the largest hopper I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re a pretty good jumper yourself,” answered the Kangaroo, grinning at nice Uncle Lucky. “Let’s have a race. I’ll give you a handicap.”

“I don’t need one—I’ve my dear old wedding stovepipe hat,” answered the old gentleman rabbit, hopping out of the Luckymobile.

“Who’ll be the judge?” asked the Big Brown Bear.

“Not me,” said the Yellow Dog Tramp, although he should have said, “Not I.” But school is over and the teacher is away, so we’ll let it go this once.

“I’ll be the judge,” said the Old Fat Bumble Bee. “I’ll be Timekeeper, too, for I have a little gold watch.”

By this time the Kangaroo and dear Uncle Lucky were all ready for the race. The old gentleman bunny was twenty-two hops in front of the Kangaroo and the course was over to a big rock and back to the Luckymobile.

“You start them off,” said the Old Fat Bumble Bee, to the Yellow Dog Tramp.

“All right,” answered the obliging dog, commencing to count.

“One, two, three,—go!”

Away went dear Uncle Lucky across the meadow and after him the great long-legged Kangaroo. Just one of his jumps was equal to three and a half of the rabbit bunny man.

“Hurry up! Uncle Lucky!” shouted the Big Brown Bear.

“Catch him!” cried the Old Bumble Bee, who was the Kangaroo’s friend, although I forgot to mention it sooner.

“Go it!” shouted the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Go it, Uncle Lucky!”

And then the old gentleman bunny went faster than ever. I guess it was all the blue silk polkadot handkerchief could do to keep his old wedding stovepipe hat from falling off!

“Goodness me!” gasped Uncle Lucky, as he turned back from the big rock on his way home to the winning place, “that Kangaroo is gaining on me. I must hop a little faster and then some more.”

“My, but that old gentleman rabbit is pretty good yet,” thought the Kangaroo, touching the big rock and starting back after the old gentleman bunny sprinter.

“Come on! Come on! Uncle Lucky!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, jumping up and down on the front seat of the Luckymobile.

“Hurry up, hurry up!” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp. “Hurry up, Uncle Lucky!”

“Catch him!” cried the Old Bumble Bee to the long legged Kangaroo.

“Dearest me!” gasped poor Uncle Lucky, “I’m most in!”

Just then, and it was mighty lucky, too, as you’ll soon see, the blue silk polkadot handkerchief slipped off his old wedding stovepipe, and before the old gentleman bunny could save it that precious hat had fallen to the ground.

“Don’t stop!” shouted the Big Brown Bear. And Uncle Lucky didn’t. Neither did the long-legged Kangaroo. He tried hard not to step into the stovepipe hat, but in slipped his right foot and over he went, tripperty trip, flat on the meadow grass, and the next minute the old gentleman bunny had touched the Luckymobile and won the race.

“Hip, hurrah!” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp.

“Three cheers!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, but Uncle Lucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t care nearly so much about winning as he did to find out whether his dear old wedding stovepipe hat were injured. Hopping quickly back to the Kangaroo, who was just struggling to his feet, the old gentleman rabbit exclaimed:

“Oh, please be careful of my hat
And gently pull it off.
Just hold your breath and close your eyes
And don’t you dare to cough.”

“Don’t worry,” answered the Kangaroo, hopping about on one foot while he tugged at the old stovepipe hat. “I’ll not cough, but I may do something else,” and he began to look dreadfully cross. “This hat is so tight it makes my pinky ache.”

“Sit down, sit down!” advised Uncle Lucky. “The first thing you know you’ll lose your balance and that will be the end of my dear old wedding stovepipe hat. Oh, please sit down.”

But, oh, dear me! The Kangaroo suddenly stubbed his toe on a buttercup, and down he went, head over heels, on the meadow.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall I do
If my dear old hat is broken!
Since ’63 it’s been to me
A loving memory token,”

cried the old gentleman rabbit, hopping over to the sprawling Kangaroo.

“There, take your old hat,” he grumbled, pulling out his foot with a desperate tug, “I lost the race on account of it and my temper, too. Take it away before I lose my money.”

The old gentleman bunny lost no time in placing it on his head and with a thank you and hope I meet you soon again, he hopped into his Luckymobile and drove away with his two good friends, the Big Brown Bear and the Yellow Dog Tramp.

BUNNY TALE 27

THE OLD BROWN HORSE

One morning, oh, so early,
When the dew shone on the grass
And the Mill Pond lay so quiet
It seemed a looking glass,

Little Jack Rabbit hopped up the Winding Trail in the Shady Forest to the Forest Pool, in which Busy Beaver had a nice bungalow.

Of course this little hairy swimmer was at home. Yes, indeed. There he sat on the bank, looking here and looking there, just as if he hadn’t a single care.

“Hello!” shouted the little bunny boy rabbit.

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” answered Busy Beaver. “It’s a long time since you’ve made a call.”

“So it is,” replied the little rabbit, “but you’re not the only busy person in the world.”

“I’m not busy just now. You see, I work on my new building at night,” and Busy Beaver flapped the water with his long flat tail.

“Where are the other members of the family?” asked the polite little rabbit. You see, not having made a call for so long a time he had forgotten all their names.

“Oh, they’re cutting down some small trees,” replied Busy Beaver. “As we live on land and in the water, we must have two houses. Then, too, as the children grow up we need more, which keeps us busy all the time.”

“Well, remember me to everybody,” said the little bunny boy rabbit, and away he hopped, lipperty lip, clipperty clip until all of a sudden, just like that, whom should he see but the Farmer’s Boy with a gun over his shoulder.

“Dear, dear!” thought the little rabbit. “Is he going to shoot Busy Beaver, I wonder. His nice fur coat would make a warm pair of gloves for the cold weather. I guess I’ll warn Busy Beaver.”

So back hopped this kind-hearted little bunny, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, looking over his shoulder now and then and sometimes oftener to see if the Farmer’s Boy was following him.

“What are you back for?” asked Busy Beaver, as all out of breath Little Jack Rabbit stopped again at the Shady Forest Pool.

“S-s-sh!” whispered the little bunny. “The Farmer’s Boy is out with his gun. I just saw him up the Shady Forest Trail. That’s why I hopped back.”

“Very kind of you,” answered the little beaver. “Guess I’ll take to the water. I’ve got a nice hiding place not far from here. Good-by,” and away he swam in his nice chestnut brown fur coat, leaving the boy bunny rabbit all alone. Dear me! I hope the Farmer’s Boy doesn’t shoot him before I get him safely away, too.

“What was that?” thought the Farmer’s Boy as Little Jack Rabbit hopped into a hollow stump near by. “What was that?” repeated the curious boy, tiptoeing over to the Shady Forest Pool. I guess he had heard the slap of the little beaver’s long flat tail as he dived down under the water to reach his front door.

Pretty soon the Farmer’s Boy turned away and walked up to the hollow stump. He was just going to thrust in his arm when he heard a great splashing in the Shady Forest Pool. My goodness, how Busy Beaver was flapping the water with his big flat tail, sending the spray flying in all directions.

At once the Farmer’s Boy forgot all about the hollow stump. Lifting his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim, but before he could pull the trigger a big drop of water spattered in his eye and he dropped the gun to take out his pocket handkerchief. Wait a minute, please, I’ve made a mistake. I meant to say he dropped his gun to brush the water from his eye with his coat sleeve.

“Now’s your chance!” shouted Busy Beaver.

Of course the Farmer’s Boy didn’t understand this warning, but the little rabbit did. Peeking out of the hollow stump for just a minute, he went hipperty hop, clipperty clip, lipperty lip down the Shady Forest Trail, past the wooded hillside where beneath a pile of rocks Danny Fox had his den.

“Now’s my chance,” thought Danny Fox, and out he jumped from his rocky bungalow.

“Dear, oh, dear me! Now what shall I do? I’m a goner, I know it!” cried the poor little bunny boy rabbit. “Yes, I’m a goner as sure as sunshine follows rain.”

“Stop whispering to yourself!” snarled the wicked fox. “I’ve a good mind to eat you right now before the Policeman Dog happens by with his big hickory stick.”

“Please do—I mean, please don’t! Oh, dear, oh, dear, I don’t know what I mean!” cried the poor frightened little bunny, his pink nose twinkling like a star on a frosty night.

“Gr-r-r!” snarled the old fox, creeping closer and closer till his hot breath burned the shivering little rabbit’s whiskers. “I’m going to eat you now. Make no mistake about it. You have given me the slip once too often.”

“No, you’re not!” shouted a friendly voice and from behind a clump of trees out ran the Old Brown Horse. Turning quickly around, he let fly with his two hind feet, sending Danny Fox through the air like a hairy four-footed two-eared football.

“Never come back!” cried the Old Brown Horse, leaning over to see if the little rabbit was all right. Of course he was, but all a-tremble.

“Thank you,” he cried. “Won’t you come home with me? You can sleep in our Little Red Barn.”

“All right,” answered the Big Brown Horse, trotting after the little bunny rabbit boy.

“Perhaps if you hop on my back you’ll be home in the Old Bramble Patch in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” said the Old Brown Horse, noticing how trembly the little rabbit was.

So up hopped the little bunny boy and away they went, trottery trot, bumperty, bump! By and by, after a while, and a laugh and a smile, they came to a big wide river.

“I’m not a very good swimmer,” apologized the kind four-footed animal, “but maybe I can manage to get across.”

“Don’t take too many chances,” advised the little bunny boy rabbit.

But the Old Brown Horse kept right on wading into the water and pretty soon it was up to his shoulder. All of a sudden his feet couldn’t touch bottom. Only a little bit of the top of his back was above water and Little Jack Rabbit had to pull up his feet and hug tight to the Old Brown Horse—hold tight to his mane, you know, so he wouldn’t slip off.

They were now out in the middle of the river where the water ran fast and furious. Dear me! It was now hard work to swim and the Old Brown Horse began to puff and pant as down the river they drifted with the fast flowing current.

“I guess I’m all in,” panted the poor tired steed. “I never was a fine swimmer. The race track was the place where I could show my heels to the best of them!”

“What are we going to do?” asked the anxious little bunny boy, as they drifted farther and farther away. The trees on the shore nodded and seemed to beckon them to swim to land. The white fleecy clouds up in the sky took the shape of fingers pointing to the shore. The poor Old Brown Horse was all tired out and his long thin legs made poor paddle wheels. If only his feet had been flat like Ducky Waddles it would have been an easy matter to have made the shore and landed his little bunny rider safely on the grass.

By and by Mr. Merry Sun drew close to the tip of the Western Hills. The sky became all pinky-purple and golden-blue. Billy Breeze began to whisper sleepy music in the treetops and the birds to fly home to their leafy nests. I guess Mrs. Cow was ringing the little bell on her leather collar to call her long-legged calf. It was past supper time and the Twinkle Twinkle Star would be shining from the sky.

“What shall we do?” asked the little anxious bunny.

“I don’t know,” sadly replied the poor steed. “My feet are dreadfully stiff and cold. I can hardly swish my tail it’s so wet and heavy.”

Just then a voice came across the darkening waters: “I’ll help you!”

“Do it quick!” gasped the Old Brown Horse, still bravely struggling in the swift current. “I’m all in!”

“Oh, please come at once with a boat or a life preserver!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit. “My dear Old Brown Horse is nearly drowned.”

The next moment around a bend in the river came the Billy Goat with his Ferryboat. You remember the Ferryboat, don’t you? The old rowboat with a bicycle in the middle and paddle wheels on the side to push it ahead or backward or any way which Captain Billygoat wished to go.

“Oh, hurry, hurry!” shouted the poor frightened little bunny boy, as the Old Brown Horse floundered about in the angry waters, his head at times almost disappearing and his poor hind legs refusing to make another stroke.

“I’m coming. Keep up!” shouted back the kind Billy Goat, making his hind legs go so fast that the spray from the paddle wheels almost hid him from view. At last, however, and none too soon, he came alongside the poor tired horse.

“Quick! Jump in!” shouted the Billy Goat, and in hopped the bunny rabbit boy.

“Lay your head in the boat,” cried the Billy Goat to the Old Brown Horse.

Dear me! The poor old fellow had scarcely enough strength to do even that. At length, however, he began to breathe easier, for all he had to do was just be towed along.

“You saved me from a watery grave, kind Billy Goat Ferry Man. Some day I’ll do you a friendly deed,” said the grateful horse when the Ferryboat reached the shore.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” replied the Billy Goat. “I’d do anything for you and Little Jack Rabbit. Give my regards to the folks at home!” and away paddled the good lifesaver in his paddle-wheel rowboat to the wharf where the little rabbit boys and girls waited for him to take them to ice cream picnics or lollypop clambakes.

“I’ll take you home now that I’m nicely rested,” said the Old Brown Horse. “I declare, I never thought this river had so swift a current.”

“Oh, I was so frightened,” answered the little rabbit, climbing on his back. “I thought I’d never see the dear Old Bramble Patch again. I want to get home to mother.”

“You’ll be there pretty soon,” replied the old horse, setting off at a brisk trot.

As they neared the Old Bramble Patch they saw Lady Love standing at the gate, shading her eyes with her front paw.

“Home again, my little bunny.
Come and eat your bread and honey.
You have been away all day,
Now with mother you may stay,”

sang the pretty canary.

BUNNY TALE 28

THE VISIT

Oh, when you don’t know what to do
Just take a book and read it through.
Most often something there you’ll find
To give you a contented mind.

You see, we often grow tired of the same old thing. Our roller skates are put aside, our bat and ball don’t interest us; we don’t wish to even run about and look for a good time. And that’s just the way Little Jack Rabbit felt. So, what did he do? Well, he didn’t do anything till Lady Love, his patient bunny rabbit mother, suggested that he read a book.

“What shall I read?” he asked, wiggling his little pink nose as much as to say, “I’d rather eat a lollypop.” But his mother didn’t notice his twinkling nose,—or, if she did, she merely overlooked it.

“Yes, why don’t you read a book,” she repeated. “Books are like friends, sometimes they teach us things, sometimes they amuse us, and sometimes——”

She had no need to finish her sentence, for the little rabbit boy had hopped over to the bookshelf.

After looking over the row of pretty books he picked out one that was called:

“BUNNY BOY’S CRACKER ANIMALS.”

“That sounds interesting,” said the little rabbit boy to himself, and, hopping into a chair, he began to read:

“Once upon a time there lived a Bunny Boy Rabbit who had a little
knapsack in which he kept animal crackers. Now this little bunny
boy was so fond of his cracker animals that he never could bear
to bite off a head or an ear, or a trunk or a tail. By and by
his knapsack became so full that it could hold no more. And then
something happened. As he hopped along one day he thought to
himself, ‘What a racket those Animal Crackers are making in my
knapsack. Maybe they are trying to get out.’

“Well, that’s just what they were doing. And all of a sudden,
quicker than a wink, the knapsack burst open and

“Away went the Elephant and the Gnu,
The tall Giraffe and the Kangaroo,
The tawny Tiger and Polar Bear,
And the Buffalo Bull with his shaggy hair.

“‘Come back, come back!’ shouted the bunny boy rabbit.

“‘No, siree!’ answered the Animal Crackers, ‘we’re going back to
our little Cracker Boxes!’ and away they went, leaving the Bunny
Boy Rabbit to fill his knapsack with clover tops or lettuce leaves.”

“Now what shall I do?” cried Little Jack Rabbit.

“Why not visit Uncle John Hare? I’ll pack your clothes in a jiffy,” suggested the little bunny’s mother, looking up from her ironing.

Pretty soon along came the Old Dog Driver with his billy goat team.

“I shall miss you,” said Lady Love, kissing her bunny boy, as he hopped into the carriage.

“Goodness gracious meebus, if that isn’t my little bunny nephew!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky, as the carriage stopped by Lily Pond Lake.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to Uncle John Hare,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’ve a package for him and my knapsack is packed full of clothes. Mother bought me a new tie.”

“What, are you going to make a visit?” asked dear Uncle Lucky, anxiously. He never could keep away very long from his little rabbit nephew. Dear me, no! Uncle Lucky was so fond of Little Jack Rabbit that he wanted to be with him all the time, and even oftener.

“Dear me,” went on poor Uncle Lucky, a lonely feeling spreading all over him from his toes to his head, “I’ll miss you dreadfully.”

“That’s what mother said this morning when she kissed me good-by,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Don’t blame her,” said the old gentleman bunny.

“She said something else, too,” added his little rabbit nephew.

“What was it?” asked dear Uncle Lucky.

“She told me to say every morning when I hopped out of bed, ‘Every day and in every way, I grow better and better.’”

“Don’t forget to do what mother says,” advised Uncle Lucky. “Do what mother says and you’ll never be sorry.”

“Can’t wait much longer,” shouted the Old Dog Driver, knocking the ashes from his pipe. Then, picking up the lines, he clicked git-ap to his billy goats and away rattled the carriage.

“I wish Uncle Lucky were coming, too,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, as they bumped along over the rough road.

“What did you say, little bunny?” asked a motherly looking lady goose, one of the passengers on her way to Goose Creek, Meadowland.

“Oh, I was just thinking aloud,” answered the little bunny boy rabbit. “But what’s the use of wishing? Wishes don’t come true.”

“Sometimes they do,” laughed the nice, kind lady goose, placing her soft feathered wing around him. “I once had an old grandmother goose who told me stories. I haven’t forgotten them. Oh, my, no! I told them to a man and he put them all in a book called “Grandmother Goosey’s Bedtime Rimes”!

“Tell me one,” said Little Jack Rabbit, sleepily.

“Once upon a time,” began the kind lady goose, but before she could say another word the bunny boy was sound asleep.

By and by the Old Dog Driver shouted, “Turnip City! All out!”

Sure enough, it was Turnip City! Just across Lettuce Square on the front porch of his pretty white house stood Uncle John Hare and behind him in the doorway, Mrs. Daisy Duck, his nice old housekeeper.

“Good-by,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, taking off his cap to the Old Lady Goose. Then away he hopped across the square and up the walk that led from the little white gate to the front piazza of Uncle John’s neat little bungalow.

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” cried the nice old gentleman bunny, patting his small nephew on the head.

“And so am I,” quacked Mrs. Daisy Duck. “Now there’ll be somebody young and frisky in the house.”

“What, am I growing so old?” asked Uncle John Hare, hopping about on the piazza with Little Jack Rabbit.

“I feel only twenty one
Or maybe twenty two.
I’m only just a kid at heart,
The same as little you,”

he sang, smiling at his small bunny nephew.

“Quack, quack, quack!
I’ve a little country shack,
With cheese and crackers on the shelf
To which I take my tired self,”

sang Mrs. Daisy Duck.

“It’s down by the Old Duck Pond,” whispered Uncle John Hare. “Mrs. Daisy Duck thinks I don’t know, but one day I hop-tiptoed after her. Don’t tell her, I think she has a nest in her little shack. Maybe someday there’ll be a brood of ducklings.”

“What are you whispering about?” asked the old lady duck, with a quack and a flap of her wings. “Secrets?”

“Maybe,” answered the old gentleman bunny. “Or, perhaps, advice. Give you three guesses.”

“Haven’t time,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, bustling out to the kitchen to look at the lollypop stew and carrot cake. “I must think about supper.”

“Come to your own little room,” said Uncle John Hare, leading the way up the winding stair. His little rabbit nephew followed, his knapsack swinging over his shoulder and his striped candy cane dangling from his elbow.

“There,” exclaimed the dear old gentleman hare, throwing open the door, “nothing has been changed except the calendar. Every day I tore off the date, saying to myself, ‘Perhaps to-morrow he’ll come again to visit his old uncle.’ It came true this morning, so it did,” and with a happy sigh the loving old bunny hare sat down in the rocking chair.

“Yes, your little room has been kept just the same for you,” he went on, “and you must make a long, long visit this time.”

“Oh, I will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit, with a laugh. “Mother said I might stay as long as you wanted me.”

“Well, that won’t be long enough,” answered Uncle John Hare. “Come, part your hair down the middle of your back and wash your paws for supper. I smell the lollypop stew.”

It took little Jack Rabbit less than two and a half minutes to make himself spick and span. Then with a hop, skip and a jump he followed his nice old Uncle to the dining room where Mrs. Daisy Duck had a lovely supper waiting for them.

Perhaps you’d like to hear what was on the table. Lots of little boys and girls don’t know what rabbits eat, I imagine. Well, there was carrot cake and lettuce marmalade, carrot jelly and turnip tea, lollypop stew and cabbage custard. A mighty nice sort of a supper for anybody, seems to me.

Just as they were finishing the cabbage custard there came a loud knocking at the front door.

“Who can it be?” asked Uncle John Hare.

“I’ll soon find out,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, waddling out of the room with her napkin under her left wing.

“Is Mr. John Hare at home?” inquired a loud voice.

“Yes, I’m here,” answered the old gentleman bunny, hopping out into the hall. But when he saw who was calling he wished he had hidden in the cellar. There stood the Ragged Rabbit Giant. You could see only the tops of his boots, for they were as high as the front door. Why, his waistcoat was even with the roof of the little white house and his gold chain tinkled against the red brick chimney every time he leaned down to speak to Mrs. Daisy Duck.

“What can I do for you?” asked Uncle John Hare, as soon as he had caught his breath. “I’d invite you into supper, only you couldn’t accept. Maybe you’d like me to hand you out a cabbage cup custard. Mrs. Daisy Duck is quite famous for her cabbage cup custards.”

“No, I don’t want any custard,” answered the Ragged Rabbit Giant. “I don’t like sweet things. Have you a cabbage leaf cigar?”

“Wait a minute. I think I have,” answered the old gentleman hare in a trembly voice, hopping back into the sitting room.

Pretty soon the giant grew restless. He shuffled his big feet, looked at his watch and then all of a sudden shouted, “Hurry up with that cabbage leaf cigar. I could have walked to Cuba in my seven league boots by this time for a good Smokerino.”

Dear, dear me! I’ve been dreadfully worried while dear Uncle John Hare has been hunting for a cabbage leaf cigar for fear he wouldn’t be able to find it. I don’t know what I’d do if a Ragged Rabbit Giant was waiting outside my little white house on the corner of Lettuce Square and Turnip Street, Turnip City.

“I’ve found it,” answered poor Uncle John Hare, hopping out with Little Jack Rabbit to the front porch.