LITTLE JACK RABBIT’S
BIG BLUE BOOK

If thru the air on radio wing

I’ve made a little child’s heart sing

I count it much as one who hears

The lovely music of the spheres.

Yours for a Story
David Cory
The Jack Rabbit Man

LITTLE JACK RABBITS
BIG BLUE BOOK
BY DAVID CORY

Home again, home again,
Thru the sunshine or the rain!
Tis the dearest place to stay
After you have played all day

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS · NEW YORK

Copyright, 1924, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP

TO THE GROWN-UPS

Come with me, the little latch

Hangs outside the Bramble Patch.

You will find within this book,

If you will but take a look,

All the happy, care-free ways

Of your golden childhood days.

In the Kingdom of Little Animals every child is at home. That a dog can talk to his friends, that a rabbit may wear knickers or a little bird climb up a tiny stair inside a hollow tree trunk seem quite natural.

Every child is willing to take my hand and step over the border into Rabbit Country.

Come, you older ones, turn back the clock. Don’t you long for a moment to be once more in Make-Believe Land? Surely you will if you read the Little Jack Rabbit Books. You again will see yourself in the wistful eyes of the youngster at your knee as he listens to

Yours for a story,

David Cory,

The Jack Rabbit Man.

LIST OF BUNNY TALES

LIST OF PICTURES

“In the Spring,

The blue birds sing

And skies of blue

Smile down on you”

Sings—

Little Jack

Rabbit to

himself in the

mirror.

In the Big Blue Book

Little Jack Rabbit

Wears a Blue Necktie.

LITTLE JACK RABBIT’S
BIG BLUE BOOK

BUNNY TALE 1
THE WEDDING

Was some one knocking on the door of Uncle Lucky’s little white house on the corner of Lettuce Avenue and Carrot St., Rabbitville, U.S.A.? Well, I guess yes, three times. Maybe somebody has been knocking ever since Bobbie Redvest told me that a bad attack of rheumatism prevents the dear old gentleman rabbit from hearing unpleasant news. Well, anyway, when Uncle Lucky opened the door who do you think was standing on the mat? You’d never guess, not even if I told you he wore rubber boots and held a green umbrella in his hand.

It was Daddy Longlegs—yes, sir, that’s who it was.

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, “are you wet?”

“Soaked to the skin,” replied the shivering, rubber-booted, long-legged insect. “Let me sit by the kitchen stove and warm myself. Maybe I’ll get dry in an hour or so.”

“Come right in!” cried dear, kind Uncle Lucky, leading the way into the kitchen where little Miss Mousie, the dear old gentleman rabbit’s tiny housekeeper, was drying the breakfast dishes.

“O sunny days, so sweet and warm,

I miss you very much.

I only hope the rheumatiz

My little toe won’t touch!”

sang Uncle Lucky, helping Daddy Longlegs pull off his rubber boots.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman insect, stretching out his cold, damp toes:

“I love the cheerful kitchen fire,

And though it is so kind

To warm my frozen tippy toes,

I’m always cold behind.”

“Turn around once in a while,” replied Uncle Lucky, “that’s what I do!”

“Don’t set your coat tails on fire,” advised Little Miss Mousie, as she nibbled a piece of angel cake.

Pretty soon, the Old Red Rooster came in with the Bunnybridge Bugle, the nice morning paper that dear Uncle Lucky loves to read when breakfast is over.

Taking out a cabbage leaf cigar, he slipped his feet into his comfortable woolen slippers and, placing his gold-rimmed spectacles on his nose, sat down in his big arm chair.

Pitter, patter, went the rain

On the misty window pane;

While the fire’s cheerful glow

Warmed his poor rheumatic toe.

By this time Daddy Longlegs was nice and dry, so he, too, sat down to read by the fire, and Little Miss Mousie, seeing that nobody wished to talk, scampered back to her little house in the corner of the sitting room. As for the Old Red Rooster, he hurried out to the barn to mend the old wheelbarrow.

Pitter, patter, sings the rain

In a drowsy, soft refrain.

Ticker, tacker, on the leaves,

Dripping, dripping, from the eaves.

Tinkle, tinkle, on the pane,

Rings the wind-blown summer rain.

Pretty soon, Uncle Lucky fell asleep and when he woke up, Mr. Merry Sun was shining and Daddy Longlegs had gone.

“Oh, dear and oh, dear!” sighed dear Uncle Lucky, taking out his gold watch and chain, “I wonder what time it is.”

Then he sighed again and looked out of the window. But the postman wasn’t in sight, only the Old Red Rooster raking up the leaves.

“Well, well, well!” sighed lonely Uncle Lucky, for the third time, “what shall I do?”

“Sing a song,” suggested Little Miss Mousie, peeking out of her small front door in the far corner of the sitting room.

“Sing us two songs,” shouted the Old Red Rooster through the open window.

So down at the piano sat kind Uncle Lucky, and, after running his paws over the keys, commenced:

“When I was young and twenty,

And my hair was curly brown,

I loved a lady bunny,

The sweetest in the town.

One day I bought a ringlet

At the Three-in-One Cent Store,

And then that eve I called on her

And placed it on her paw.

But oh, the years have flown since then,

Way back in ’63,

And only my old wedding hat

Is left to lonely me.”

Then up jumped dear, tender-hearted Uncle Lucky, and wiping the tears in his left eye, took down his old wedding stovepipe hat and carefully dusted it off with his blue silk polkadot handkerchief.

All of a sudden the telephone bell began to ring.

“Who’s calling me?” inquired the old gentleman bunny, taking down the receiver and holding it up to his left ear.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said the next moment. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you—no, I don’t. You make me cross,” and with that Uncle Lucky hung up the receiver and hopped back to his big comfortable armchair.

“Who was it?” asked Little Miss Mousie, running across the floor to the piano stool, up which she climbed. Then, smoothing her bobbed hair, she smiled sweetly at the old gentleman bunny.

“Chatterbox, the red squirrel,” answered Uncle Lucky. “He has a funny story to tell me, but my rheumatism won’t listen to anything, so I excused myself. Dear me, how my little left hind toe aches. I must be careful or I’ll be full of crossness.”

“You’ll never be full of anything but kindness,” replied Little Miss Mousie, arranging the cushions in the big armchair. And she spoke the truth, don’t you think so, dear little girls and boys?

But poor Uncle Lucky couldn’t fall asleep again, nor could he eat the nice luncheon which Little Miss Mousie brought in on a silver tray.

By and by, after smoking a cabbage-leaf cigar, he said with a sigh, “I guess I’ll play a tune; maybe I’ll sing another song,” and hopping over to the piano, he turned the little stool around three times and a half, and commenced to sing:

“When she was only sweet sixteen

I loved a little rabbit queen.

Her eyes were pink as any rose,

And even pinker was her nose.

And pinker far her ears inside,

And when she said she’d be my bride,

I bought a lovely wedding ring,

And we were married in the spring.”

“Heigh ho, how the years go!” sighed the old gentleman rabbit and, taking out his gold watch and chain, he suddenly exclaimed: “Goodness gracious meebus! It’s almost time for the wedding!”

Quickly putting on his old wedding stovepipe hat, he hopped out of his little house.

You see, his dear bunny niece, pretty Lady Love, had decided to get married and settle down in the Old Bramble Patch. Perhaps that’s why Uncle Lucky sang the song about the pretty rabbit queen.

And now I’ll tell you about the wedding. All the Shady Forest folk were there, of course, and so were the Sunny Meadow people.

“Its almost time for the wedding”

Old Mrs. Bunny had put her house in apple-pie order, and after the wedding in the Shady Forest, and Parson Owl had given Lady Love, the pretty little lady bunny, to Mr. Rabbit to care for all the rest of his life, everybody started back to the Old Bramble Patch. Goodness me, it was a long procession! Squirrel Nutcracker, the Big Brown Bear, Granddaddy Bullfrog, Grandmother Magpie, Busy Beaver, Sammy Skunk, the Old Brown Horse, Mrs. Grouse, Chippy Chipmunk, the Stage Coach Dog, the Old Red Rooster, the Yellow Dog Tramp, the Policeman Dog, Old Barney Owl, the Circus Elephant, the sure-footed little Mountain Goat, and all the Barnyard Folk. Everybody was anxious to see the little house that dear Uncle Lucky had built for Lady Love.

Well, when they all reached the Old Bramble Patch, there stood dear Uncle Lucky on the front porch, his old wedding stovepipe hat in his front paw and his big diamond horseshoe pin in his pink cravat. Yes, sir, there he stood, bowing and smiling just as if it were his own wedding day and not somebody else’s, as Mr. Rabbit and Lady Love hopped up the path and into the house to stand under a big horseshoe wreath of clover and shake hands with all their friends.

Just as everybody had finished looking at the wedding presents, and dear Uncle Lucky was saying, “Bless you, my children!” Danny Fox peeped into the window and shouted: “Don’t be frightened! Here’s a diamond necklace for Lady Love.” Then away he ran, knowing that nobody wanted him around; for he is a dreadful robber, you know, and robbers aren’t invited to a wedding. They come later to

Your little Harlem Flat

To steal your high top hat.

At last, when the lollypop juice was all gone, and the grasshopper orchestra tired of playing, somebody called on Uncle Lucky for a song.

“My dear old wedding hat

I’ve worn for forty year.

I’ve smiled and laughed beneath its brim

And sometimes shed a tear.

But, oh, it hardly seems to me

It was way back in ’63

I wore it on my wedding day,

When I was frisky, young and gay,”

sang the old gentleman rabbit, wiping a tear from his left eye with his blue silk polkadot handkerchief. Then kissing the bride good-by, he stopped for a moment to hang up an old horseshoe on the front porch and then led the guests away, leaving pretty Lady Love and Mr. Rabbit to fill the little white bungalow with happiness in the years to come.

By and by a little rabbit boy came to make their dream come true. As soon as the glad news was telephoned to dear Uncle Lucky, that happy old gentleman rabbit hopped into his Luckymobile and started off as fast as a comet for the little white bungalow.

All the way over he honked the horn to bring out all the Shady Forest Folk from their tree houses and burrows.

“What’s the matter?” asked Squirrel Nutcracker from his Old Tree Lodge.

“Lady Love has a little boy rabbit!” answered Uncle Lucky.

“What’s all the noise about?” inquired Busy Beaver, swimming up to the bank of the Shady Forest Pool.

“Lady Love has a little rabbit boy!” answered Uncle Lucky.

“Stop blowing that horn!” snapped Grandmother Magpie from her perch in the tall pine tree.

“Not for a minute,” shouted back dear Uncle Lucky. “Lady Love has a little boy rabbit.”

“Are you going crazy?” asked the Big Brown Bear as the Luckymobile whizzed by the Cozy Cave.

“No, I’m going to see my little grandnephew,” answered Uncle Lucky. “Lady Love has a baby rabbit.”

“You’ll wake up my babies,” cried Mrs. Bobbie Redvest, as the Luckymobile rushed past the Apple Orchard.

“Never mind,” shouted back Uncle Lucky. “Tell ’em there’s a new baby at the Old Bramble Patch. Lady Love has a little boy rabbit.”

“Goodness me, what a noise!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog, as Uncle Lucky circled the Old Duck Pond. “Has the old gentleman rabbit lost his wits?”

“Not yet,” answered dear Uncle Lucky. “I’m off for the Old Bramble Patch to see Lady Love’s little boy rabbit. He just came to-day.”

“Where are you going?” asked Chippy Chipmunk, as Uncle Lucky sped by the Old Chestnut Tree.

“To see Little Jack Rabbit, Lady Love’s baby,” answered the old gentleman rabbit.

And so it went. Everybody wanted to know what was the matter, and when Uncle Lucky finally reached the dear Old Bramble Patch he had told the glad news to every single solitary person in the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow.

BUNNY TALE 2
HUNGRY HAWK

“Hush, little rabbit, go to sleep.

Up in the sky the pretty stars peep;

Down in the meadows the clover tops

Are winking away at the lollypops,”

sang Lady Love, as she rocked the cradle in which lay Little Jack Rabbit.

Out in the kitchen Old Mrs. Bunny, who had come over for the day, was baking cabbage cake and Mr. Rabbit was reading in the Bunnybridge Bugle a story about the new baby rabbit in the Old Bramble Patch.

“Look, mother!” cried the proud rabbit father, turning the paper toward the good lady bunny.

“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “There’s his picture as sure as I’m a grandmother and you’re my son.”

Yes, sir! On the front page was a picture of Little Jack Rabbit, and underneath, in big purple letters:

“A new arrival at the Old Bramble Patch. Lady Love has a baby boy bunny. Carrot City, Bunnybridge, Lettucemere and Turnip City papers please copy.”

“It makes me as proud as a peacock to see it in the paper,” laughed Mr. Rabbit. “And to think that Little Jack Rabbit will soon be old enough to hop about the Sunny Meadow and through the Shady Forest.”

Just then in came Timmie Meadowmouse to see the new little bunny boy.

“Little Jack Rabbit is asleep,” explained his careful father. “Why didn’t you come early this afternoon? You ought to know, Timmie Meadowmouse, that little bunny babies are asleep by this hour.”

“What time is it?” asked the little Meadowmouse “I left my watch home.”

“It’s six o’clock and Merry Sun

Is hiding behind a tree;

It won’t be long before he will glide

Into the western sea,”

answered the cuckoo from her little clock house.

“There! It’s six o’clock. You’d better look out for Hungry Hawk. You should be home by this time,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit.

“Can’t I have a peep at your little bunny?” asked the tiny meadowmouse, holding his cap in his left paw as he turned the brass doorknob. “I want to tell the Sunny Meadow People I’ve seen him.”

“Come along, then, on your tiptoes,” answered Mr. Rabbit, leading the little meadowmouse to the bedroom where the bunny baby lay sound asleep.

“S-s-s-s-h!” whispered Lady Love from the rocking chair close by, as Timmie Meadowmouse stood on his hind legs to peep into the cradle.

“He’ll be running about in a day or two,” chuckled Mr. Rabbit, as he said good night to Timmie Meadowmouse. “He’ll be out with Uncle Lucky in no time.”

“He’s over at the barnyard, talking to Old Sic’em.”

And that’s just what happened a few weeks later when Uncle Lucky, hopping out of his Luckymobile and into the Old Bramble Patch, shouted:

“Where’s that grandson of mine?”

“He’s over at the Barnyard, talking to Old Sic’em,” answered Mr. Rabbit from the front porch.

“Please call him home,” begged anxious Lady Love.

“Have you polished the doorknob clean and bright,

And brought in the kindling wood?

I think I hear the canary bird

Crying for breakfast food,”

she said, as her bunny boy hopped up to the kitchen door.

“Dear, oh, dear!” answered the truthful little rabbit, “I forgot all about her. But I filled the woodbox and polished the doorknob, Mother dear.”

“Give me the watering can,” said the kind Old Red Rooster. “You attend to Little Miss Canary.

She’s a pretty little fellow

In her feather dress of yellow,

And she sings so clear and sweet

From her tiny wooden seat!”

“My, where did you learn to talk in poetry?” asked the bunny boy, handing over the big green watering pot.

“I’ll tell you some day when I have more time,” replied the Old Red Rooster. “Now, mind your mother. Hop along and feed the little birdie!”

Away went the bunny boy, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, to give the pretty canary her breakfast. After which she stood tiptoe on the edge of the porcelain drinking cup, tilting back her head to let the drops of water trickle down her feather-ruffled throat.

“Would you believe it, Little Jack Rabbit is growing so fast we have to call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store twice a week for a new suit of clothes? If he keeps on growing like this he’ll be in long pants before Easter,” explained sweet Lady Love to the old gentleman rabbit.

“Ha, ha!” laughed dear Uncle Lucky. “I remember you grew mighty fast. It seemed I had hardly given you a lollypop rattle when it came time to give you a cherry-stone necklace.”

Just then the Old Red Rooster began to crow:

“Oh, things have changed in the Bramble Patch,

I’ve scarcely a moment’s time to scratch;

With Little Jack Rabbit to teach and learn

I’ve hardly the time my wage to earn.”

“Did you ever!” laughed Old Mrs. Bunny from the kitchen door. “One would think the Old Red Rooster was a busy person! He’d rather rest on his hoe and talk to Little Jack Rabbit than weed the garden. My, but he’s a lazy fowl!”

“Never mind,” answered Uncle Lucky, hopping around the little white house. Not far away Little Jack Rabbit and the Old Red Rooster were feeding the pigeons, who had flown down from their pretty house on the top of a tall pole.

“Hey, there, young rabbit!” cried Uncle Lucky. “Don’t pull the tail feathers out of the Old Red Rooster’s swallow tail coat!” You see, Little Jack Rabbit was making believe the good-natured rooster was a horse and he was driving him to the station at Bunnybridge.

“Where have you been?” asked the little bunny.

“Oh, I’ve just come in from a drive,” answered Uncle Lucky. “I had some business to attend to in Carrot City.”

“When are you going to take me for a ride?”

“Wait a little longer till you’re big enough to look out for yourself,” answered wise old Uncle Lucky. “There’s no telling when Danny Fox or Old Man Weasel may pop out from behind a tree. You’re safer here in the Old Bramble Patch for a while yet.”

All of a sudden the Old Red Rooster gave a warning. Quick as a wink into the Little Red Barn hopped the two bunnies, Uncle Lucky first, Little Jack Rabbit next and last, but just as fast, the Old Red Rooster.

Closing the door, they peeped out through a knothole. There in the back yard stood Hungry Hawk.

“Ha, ha! Ha, ha!” cried Hungry Hawk,

As he flew at the door with a dreadful squawk,

“This Little Red Barn’s a pretty good place

For rabbits to hide from my grinning face.”

And, hopping around the barn, that old robber bird peeked in through every crack. By and by he came to quite a large knothole. Oh, dear me, yes! It was big enough for his head, and then it seemed almost large enough for his body.

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed anxious Uncle Lucky, “I’m afraid that old bird will squeeze in.”

“Wait a minute, hold your breath,

Don’t you sneeze or titter,

I’ll show that dreadful robber bird

That I’m a home run hitter,”

whispered the Old Red Rooster, and the next minute he had crept over on his tiptoes to the tool closet for the big heavy wooden mallet.

Hungry Hawk didn’t notice the Old Red Rooster. No, siree, ma’am! He was too busy pushing and shoving, and shoving and pushing. He surely thought that pretty soon he’d be in the barn, feasting on two nice rabbits and maybe a fat rooster.

How he did squirm and twist and twist and squirm! Dear me! I hope he doesn’t get both his wings through the knothole before the Old Red Rooster can swing the big wooden mallet. Because, if once inside, Hungry Hawk will put up a dreadful fight and maybe get the best of the two little rabbits and the Old Red Rooster.

Dear me! again. I wish I could tell the Kind Policeman Dog over the wireless what is going on in the Little Red Barn. He wouldn’t wait a minute. No, sireemam! He’d come with his hickory stick and knock Hungry Hawk’s tail right off before the Old Red Rooster had time to swing the big wooden mallet.

But there’s no use wishing for things. Just get out and get them! That’s the way. So, here we go! Old Red Rooster, hurry up! And that’s just what he did.

Whack! Down came the wooden mallet on Hungry Hawk’s head. Whew! How mad he was!

Whack! Again the Old Red Rooster tickled the wicked hawk’s head.

“Give him another!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hiding Little Jack Rabbit behind his coat tails. “Hit him again, and three times more!”

Now, let me see. What did Hungry Hawk do after Uncle Lucky shouted to the Old Red Rooster; “Hit him again!” Well, what would you think he’d do? First, he hid his head under his wing; then he tried to squeeze back through the knothole. But he couldn’t, for his feathers turned up at the end and made him bigger than ever.

“I don’t want to break your head,” said the Old Red Rooster. “This wooden mallet is pretty hard. But if you think you’re going to eat Uncle Lucky or Little Jack Rabbit or yours truly, you’ve made a mistake.”

“You bet you have!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “You better go home to Mrs. Hawk and lead a better life hereafter.”

“Dear me! I wish I could,” answered Hungry Hawk, “I’ve got an awful headache. The Old Red Rooster hit me three times with the wooden mallet.”

Just then who should hop into the barn but the Policeman Dog. I wonder how he found out what was going on?

“You wicked bird! I’ve a good notion to shoot you,” he shouted, pulling his gun from his hip pocket.

“Don’t shoot!” begged Hungry Hawk, his tail feathers twitching and his eyes blinking with fright. My, but he was scared. For that Policeman Dog’s gun was a warlike looking weapon, let me tell you. The handle was red and the barrel black and the bullet as yellow as a dandelion.

“I’ll take three minutes to think about it,” answered the Policeman Dog. “But what are you going to do? You can’t get out and you can’t get in, I guess you wish you were thin as a pin.”

Just think of a Policeman Dog making up poetry at a dangerous time like this. Well, I never.

“I’m worried enough to grow thin,” answered Hungry Hawk. “Besides, I’m dreadfully uncomfortable.”

“I’ve got an idea,” suddenly exclaimed wise Uncle Lucky, “I’ll knock out the board. Maybe it will split in two and free the old bird.”

“Please be careful,” begged Hungry Hawk, as the old gentleman rabbit lifted the heavy wooden mallet, “please don’t make a mistake and hit me.”

“One, two, three!” sang out Uncle Lucky, and down came the mallet, whack! against the board. The next minute Hungry Hawk found himself by the woodpile. But, dear me! The board hadn’t cracked open. No, the nails had just pulled out of the Big Red Barn.

All of a sudden the old hawk gave a tre-men-dous squirm and away he flew, with a whirr of wings, above the Sunny Meadow.

“I guess he won’t bother little rabbits for some time,” cried Uncle Lucky. But, children dear, I’m sorry to say, a little further on in the book he does something dreadful.

Oh, hawks are very crafty things,

They fly about on silent wings,

And if, perchance, a little rabbit

Is heedless of a watchful habit,

He’ll find too late some sunny morning

He should have followed mother’s warning.

BUNNY TALE 3
THE LOLLYPOP TREE

“I must run up to see the Big Brown Bear,” thought Little Jack Rabbit, looking up at Mr. Merry Sun shining in the Blue Sky Country.

“I want you to hop down to the Three-in-One-Cent Store for a clothes-pin,” said Lady Love, his pretty bunny mother.

“All right, mother dear,” answered the little rabbit, tucking the napkin under his chin and helping himself to a big slice of carrot cake.

My, what a nice breakfast his bunny mother had made for him—carrot cakes with lollypop syrup, turnip tea and lettuce marmalade.

As soon as the little rabbit had brought in the kindling wood, fed the canary and polished the front door knob, he kissed his pretty bunny mother good-by and hopped down the winding path through the brambles to the Sunny Meadow.

Peeking out of his little front door stood Timmie Meadowmouse.

“Hello!” said Little Jack Rabbit, stopping before the tiny, round grass-ball house, hung on three stiff stalks of grass about six inches above the ground, “Where do you think I’m going?”

“Well, wherever you’re going,” answered the timid meadowmouse, peering anxiously out of the small round hole that serves for his front door, “you’d better look out for Danny Fox.”

“Oh, I will,” replied Little Jack Rabbit. “And I’ll bring you a lollypop, ’cause I’m going up to see the Big Brown Bear and the Lollypop Tree. Good-by,” and away hopped the little bunny, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, up the Old Cow Path in the Sunny Meadow and over the hill top until, by and by, not so very long, he came to the Shady Forest, where he paused for a moment to inquire how Mrs. Nutcracker was getting along.

“Very nicely, thank you,” replied old Squirrel Nutcracker, dropping a handful of nuts in the little rabbit’s pocket. “She’ll soon be around again.”

“I’m glad of that,” answered the kind-hearted little bunny boy, “mother sends her love,” and off he hopped up the Shady Forest Trail.

As he passed the pool in which Busy Beaver has his home, he stopped to say “Hello.”

“Hello, yourself!” shouted back the little beaver. “How are all the folks?”

“Pretty well, except dear Uncle Lucky Lefthindfoot,” answered the little bunny rabbit boy. “He has the rheumatism in his left hind toe and Dr. Quack says it will be some time before he can do a toe dance.”

B.B.BEAR
“That’s a good lad” laughed Big Brown Bear.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” laughed the happy little beaver, giving his big broad tail a sudden flap, sending the spray all over the little rabbit boy bunny’s fur coat, “but why should Uncle Lucky want to do a toe dance, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” replied the little rabbit, wiping the water drops off his coat sleeve. “You’ve splashed me all over, Busy Beaver, yes, you have,” and away went the little rabbit, for it was nearly a mile and a whistle and a smile to Cozy Cave where the Big Brown Bear sold

Ice cream cones and lollypops,

Licorice sticks and Sweet Corn Pops,

Peppermints and ’Lasses Drops.

Dear me! Doesn’t that sound delicious? If only I had the time I’d leave my typewriter to run over to the Big Brown Bear. Would you come with me, little reader? I guess you would, and so would your little brother Jimmy.

Well, now where was I before I began to dream? I was on my way to Cozy Cave for a gum drop? Oh, yes, Little Jack Rabbit had stopped before I had even started, so I’ll tell you without digressing further, which means to go off sideways—what the little bunny did.

“Where you going?” asked Chippy Chipmunk, running along the top of the Old Rail Fence, his red striped jacket shining in the morning sun and his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

“To the cozy cave of the Big Brown Bear,

And the Lollypop Tree just over there.”

“Bring me a lollypop,” shouted Chippy Chipmunk as the little rabbit boy hopped up the Shady Forest Trail, in and out among the trees, where Billy Breeze whistled amid the leaves.

By and by, way, way yonder, he could just make out the comfortable figure of the Big Brown Bear sitting in front of his cozy cave, smoking a corncob pipe.

“Hello! hello!” shouted the little rabbit, waving his red-striped candy cane. “Are you there, Mr. Bear?”

“No, I’m here,” chuckled the big good-natured, furry-coated animal, “but just keep on, you’ll find me all right.”

“How’s mother?” he asked, taking the old corncob pipe from between his beautiful white pearly teeth, as the breathless little rabbit stood before him.

“She’s well, thank you,” panted the little bunny boy, looking up at the lollypops as they winked their purple-pinky eyes from the branches of the Lollypop Tree.

“Did you do your three chores for mother this morning?” enquired the Big Brown Bear, although the little bunny boy wished to goodness gracious he would stop asking questions and give him a lollypop.

“Oh, yes, oh, yes!” answered the wistful-eyed little rabbit.

“You polished the front door knob, fed the canary and brought in the kindling wood?” continued the questioning old bear.

“Oh, yes, oh, yes,” repeated the little bunny boy rabbit, only this time he shouted it.

“That’s a good lad,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, handing a pink lollypop to his little long-eared caller. “Have a lollypop!”

And then, would you believe it, that big bear put away his pipe and began to suck a green lollypop. Just fancy that if you can! Pretty soon he said with a smile, “Want another?”

“Have you any left?” asked the bunny boy, oh, so wist-ful-ly.

“Well, I’ll see,” answered the Big Brown Bear, rising to his feet and ambling into the cozy cave. But, oh, dear me! the only things he found were a popcorn ball and an empty ice cream cone.

“Goodness gracious!” he exclaimed, coming out again into the sunlight, “I guess I’ll have to climb the Lollypop Tree.”

It didn’t take him long to swing himself up, and as he climbed higher and higher, the little rabbit watched him anxiously. Pretty soon the Big Brown Bear reached the branches where the lollypops grow in a rainbow row.

“Do you want that nice pink one?” he asked, looking down into the little rabbit’s upturned face.

“Oh, yes!” shouted the bunny boy. “And that green one, too, and that one all blue, and maybe a purple one for you.”

Carefully picking off the lollypops, the big kind animal shoved them into his coat pocket. Then sliding down the tree, he walked over and sat down on the big wooden bench.

“Come, hop up beside me. We’ll sing the lollypop song!” and moving over to one side to make room for the little rabbit he held up the purple lollypop. Then the little bunny held up the pink lollypop, and, both together, all at once, just at the same time, they shouted:

“Hip, Hip, Hurray,

I lick a lollypop every day.”

Pretty soon the lollypops were licked all to pieces—nothing was left but the two little sticks.

“Well, well,” chuckled the Big Brown Bear, taking out of his pocket the green and blue lollypops. Then he and his little bunny friend held them up in the same way, singing all over again the lovely lollypop song, and when only the little sticks remained, the Big Brown Bear asked with a smile:

“What shall we do now?”

“Let’s have one more lollypop and one more song,” answered the little rabbit.

“Dear, dear, dearest me! I must climb up the Lollypop Tree!” sighed the Big Brown Bear. But he was so kind and he was so good that up he went, until at last he came to the row where the beautiful, luscious lollypops grow.

“Do you want that yellow one?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, I do, and that red one, too,” shouted the little rabbit, “and that orange one will be good for you.”

Picking them off the branches with his furry paw, the Big Brown Bear slipped them in his pocket and, scrambling down to the ground, walked over to the big wooden bench. The little rabbit followed close at his heels and, jumping up beside him, peeked into the good-natured animal’s pocket.

“My, what a hungry little bunny,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, pulling out the lollypops. Then, holding up the orange colored one in his right paw, he waited for the little bunny boy.

“Hip, Hip, Hurray,

I lick a lollypop every day,”

they shouted all over again; and not until the lollypops were all gone did the little rabbit suddenly remember the errand for his mother.

“Dear, oh, dear! I almost forgot that mother wants a clothes-pin from the Three-in-One Cent Store. Good-by, Mr. Big Brown Bear,” and away hopped the little rabbit down the winding trail, in and out among the trees, until at last he hopped across Busy Beaver’s dam that held back the water in the Bubbling Brook.

“What’s your hurry?” asked the beaver.

“Don’t stop me!” replied the little bunny boy. “Mother asked me to get a clothes-pin,” and, hitching up his little knapsack, he swung his little striped candy cane around three times and a half and hopped merrily up the Old Cow Path toward the farmyard.

“Hello!” cackled Henny Jenny, as he peeked in through the fence.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” crowed Cocky Doodle.

“I’m pretty well,” answered the bunny boy rabbit, “but don’t stop me! I must get a clothes-pin for mother at the Three-in-One Cent Store.”

But, dear me! Just then Ducky Waddles shuffled around the big haystack and Turkey Tim strutted across the yard. Of course they, too, shouted “Hello!” and the next minute the Weathercock on the big Red Barn spun around on his gilded toe and asked the little rabbit the time.

“Dear me!” thought the little bunny, taking out the big gold watch which Uncle Lucky had given him for a birthday present, “I’m afraid to look—I’ve wasted so much time this morning.” And then, oh, how I hate to tell it, something dreadful happened.

All of a sudden,

Just like that,

Out of the house

Came the farmer’s cat.

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, backing away toward the old apple tree, “Black Cat will surely scratch all the little buttons off my fur overcoat.”

“Meow! Meow!” cried Black Cat, creeping forward, his wicked green eyes blazing like balls of fire and his sharp claws sticking out of his fur-mittens.

And the poor little rabbit, his back against the old apple tree, stood all a-tremble, not knowing what to do.

“Go way, go way!” he cried. But closer and closer crept the wicked cat in his long black coat.

All of a sudden a little voice from a treetop whispered:

“Don’t you remember how your mother taught you to defend yourself?”

Then, of course, the little rabbit boy remembered the only way a bunny can protect himself. Turning around as quick as a flash, he struck out with his two strong hind legs, hitting Black Cat such a welt in the belt that all the breath was knocked out of him. It took the old cat five minutes to find it. And while he hunted here and there, under a stone and behind a bush, away hopped the little rabbit, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, down the road to Rabbitville.

“Don’t forget next time to remember what mother tells you,” called little Bobbie Redvest from the apple tree.

“Oh, I won’t, I won’t!” shouted the little bunny boy over his shoulder, “I’m trying now to remember the clothes-pin!” and away he hopped faster than ever to the Three-in-One Cent Store.

BUNNY TALE 4
UNCLE LUCKY

Goodness me! boys and girls, I think I forgot to mention that just back of Uncle Lucky’s little white house stood a tiny garage in which he kept his Luckymobile, the fastest car in all Rabbitville. Sometimes it went so fast that the hind wheels couldn’t keep up with the front wheels. Then, of course, the old gentleman rabbit had to honk the horn and put on the brakes to avoid a dreadful accident.

One morning dear Uncle Lucky hopped into the kitchen where Little Miss Mousie was setting the breakfast table while the turnip tea was singing on the stove.

As soon as the meal was over the old gentleman rabbit slipped his big diamond horseshoe pin into his purple cravat and buttoned up his pink waistcoat. Then tying his blue silk polkadot handkerchief over the top of his old wedding stovepipe hat and under his chin to keep Billy Breeze from blowing it off, he shouted, “Good-by, Little Miss Mousie!” and hopped out to the garage, where the old Red Rooster was cleaning the Luckymobile cushions with his feather duster tail.

“Ha, ha!” laughed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping into the Luckymobile, “I’m going to take Little Jack Rabbit out for a ride.” And, giving the horn a honk or two, he whizzed through the little gate in the white picket fence. At Cabbage Street he turned off Lettuce Avenue and into the Shady Forest. By and by, after a while, he reached the dear Old Bramble Patch.

“I’ll be out in just a minute!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit in answer to the three honks of the Luckymobile horn. “I’ve almost finished polishing the front door knob.”

“Don’t hurry!” replied the old gentleman rabbit, hopping around to the kitchen where Lady Love, the little rabbit’s mother, was wiping the dishes.

“Here comes Uncle Lucky!” chirped the little Black Cricket from the woodbox by the kitchen stove.

“Here comes Uncle Lucky!” sang the Three Little Grasshoppers, while the pretty Canary from her gold cage twittered a song of welcome and the Hollyhocks nodded their heads as the old gentleman rabbit hopped up on the little back porch.

Lady Love pushed forward the big rocking chair and when the old gentleman bunny was comfortably seated, handed him a cup of turnip tea.

“Ah, me!” he sighed, though smiling at Lady Love:

“When I was young and frisky

Way back in ’63,

A pretty little bunny girl

Gave me a cup of tea,”

and taking a blue silk polkadot handkerchief out of his coat-tail pocket, dear kind Uncle Lucky wiped a tear from his left eye.

Pretty soon when Little Jack Rabbit had finished polishing the front door knob, he and Uncle Lucky hopped out to the Luckymobile and drove away across the Sunny Meadow, up the Old Cow Path and over the hill-top, to the Shady Forest.

Everything was going along so nicely and Billy Breeze was whistling such a merry tune in the treetops when, all of a sudden, just like that, quick as the bills on the first of the month, something happened. Isn’t it too bad that unpleasant things always happen when these two dear little rabbits are enjoying themselves?

Before Uncle Lucky could stop the Luckymobile it ran straight into a big log that lay across the Shady Forest Path, and out went the two little bunnies. No sooner had they picked themselves up than whom should they see peeping around a tree, but Mr. Wicked Wolf.

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” whispered Little Jack Rabbit, “let’s turn back.”

But, goodness gracious me! who was standing not far behind them, but Danny Fox!

“Worse and worse,” sighed poor dear Uncle Lucky, hopping off sideways when, all of a sudden, Old Man Weasel crept from behind a stone.

“What shall we do?” cried the poor little rabbit, all a-tremble with fright. “Won’t somebody come to help us?”

“Hurry up, little rabbit,

Quickly jump

Into that friendly old

Hollow Stump,”

whispered a little voice from the treetop. And, wasn’t it lucky? it was the Old Hollow Stump Telephone Booth.

“S.O.S. Please come quick!”

“S.O.S. Please come quick,

Policeman Dog, with your hickory stick!”

shouted the bunny boy.

Then brave Uncle Lucky held the door tight shut with his strong hind legs while the little rabbit peeped out through a knothole.

“Is he coming? Is he coming?” asked the anxious old gentleman rabbit, still holding the door tightly closed with his strong hind legs.

“Maybe I can see him with my left eye,” answered the little rabbit, again squinting through the knothole. “Here he comes! Here he comes!”

Sure enough, the big kind Policeman Dog in his long blue coat with its big silver star was running swiftly across the Sunny Meadow.

“Here, I am!” he shouted, waving his hickory stick and blowing his big shrill whistle.

No sooner did Danny Fox hear that whistle than he ran through the Shady Forest.

No sooner did Mr. Wicked Wolf see the big kind Policeman Dog than he, too, turned and fled.

As for Old Man Weasel, he crawled under the bed on reaching home and never dared to come out for a week and a day.

“Everything is safe now!” shouted the big kind Policeman Dog, tapping the little door of the old Hollow Stump Telephone Booth with his big hickory stick. So out hopped the two little rabbits.

“Here, take this!” cried dear generous Uncle Lucky, pulling out of his wallet a ten dollar lettuce leaf bill for the brave Policeman Dog. “Buy the Missus a new calico apron and the little bow-wow some candy.”

“Thank you,” said the good Policeman Dog, saluting the old gentleman rabbit with his right paw, and away he ran to the Police Station in Rabbitville.

“I guess we’d better go home,” said the old gentleman rabbit. “We’ve had enough trouble for to-day,” and before long he drove through the gate in the white picket fence and around to the garage in the rear of his little white house on the corner of Lettuce Avenue and Carrot Street, Rabbitville.

There stood the Old Red Rooster, polishing his spurs with Uncle Lucky’s shoe brush.

“Are you going to a wedding?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, winking at Mrs. Swallow, who was peeping out of her mud house under the eaves.

“No, to a fight!” answered the Old Red Rooster.

“Maybe I’d better bring in some cabbage leaves,” said the old gentleman rabbit, hopping down the little path under the grape arbor and around the Old Well to the garden. “Miss Mousie can make us a nice salad for lunch.” And while his little mouse housekeeper was setting the table, he and Little Jack Rabbit hopped out on the front porch where, just under the roof, pretty Mrs. Sparrow had a nest crowded with little birdies.

Sitting down in the hammock, the old gentleman rabbit swung back and forth, while his little bunny nephew looked in the croquet box to see if Hungry Hawk had stolen one of the nice wooden balls.

Pretty soon, when the old gentleman rabbit had fallen asleep, Mrs. Sparrow whispered in the little bunny’s ear,

“I never, never pay a cent,

My little house is free of rent,”

and she went on to explain how dear generous Uncle Lucky allowed her to use his front porch free of charge all through the year.

By and by Little Miss Mousie came to the front door to say that luncheon was ready.

“Dearest me!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “did I fall asleep?” and jumping out of the hammock, he winked at little Mrs. Sparrow. Then calling to Little Jack Rabbit, he hopped through the front hall, where the Old Grandfather Clock went tick, tickie, tock all the day long.

“Oh, all the day long

Old Grandfather Clock

Went tickie, tick, tickie,

Tick, tickie, tock.

But Little Miss Mousie,

She wasn’t afraid,

As she polished the window

And pulled down the shade.

She loved the Old Grandfather

Tick, tockey Clock,

Why, she sang to herself

As it went tickie, tock!

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, hanging his old wedding stovepipe hat on the hat-stand, “I’m as hungry as three bears!”

“So am I,” laughed the little rabbit, “I could eat a bag of animal crackers!”

“Dearest me! Somebody’s knocking,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, as Little Miss Mousie brought in the lollypop stew. “I wonder if it’s Old Man Trouble?”

“No, it isn’t,” answered Little Miss Mousie, peeking through the keyhole. “It’s Granddaddy Bullfrog.”

“Ask him in! Don’t keep him waiting!” shouted dear hospitable Uncle Lucky.

“You’re just in time for lunch,” he added, as the old gentleman frog hopped into the kitchen.

Pushing up a chair, Little Miss Mousie made an extra place for him at the neat little table. But, oh, dear me! she forgot to give him a napkin, and because the old gentleman frog was too polite to ask for one while eating a raspberry tart, one of the raspberries rolled down his white waistcoat!

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky, suddenly seeing the big red stain, “were you signing checks with red ink this morning?”

But before the embarrassed old frog could answer kind Little Miss Mousie washed off the spot with a gasolene cloth.

After the meal was over Uncle Lucky and Granddaddy Bullfrog hopped out on the front porch to play pinochle and the little rabbit went out to talk to the Old Red Rooster, who was still polishing his spurs in the Old Red Barn.

By and by the little bunny grew restless and, thinking he had better be going, he hopped around to the kitchen to say good-by to Little Miss Mousie. After she had filled his pockets with sweet cookies, he stopped a moment at the front porch, but Uncle Lucky and Granddaddy Bullfrog were so busy with their game that they never noticed him.

“I’ll say good-by for you,” twittered little Mrs. Sparrow, knowing that the little bunny didn’t want dear Uncle Lucky to wonder what had become of him.

“Here comes a little rabbit bunny,

His knapsack full of ready money

Lettuce bills and carrot cents,

And maybe a million turnip pence,”

sang Bobbie Redvest from the Old Rail Fence.

“Not quite so many,” answered the little rabbit, “but maybe some day I’ll have enough to buy mother a jade necklace.”

“Look out! Look out for Danny Fox!

He’s sneaking round in his tiptoe socks!

If he should see you first, look out!

You won’t have time to even shout!”

whispered Billy Breeze to all the little people of the Shady Forest and the Sunny Meadow. He didn’t exactly whisper it, you know. He did it in a better way, a way by which no one heard a word. He carried the smell of the wicked old fox to the nose of every little animal. Yes, sir, that’s how Billy Breeze whispers bad news!

“I’m glad I’m safe at home,” thought the little bunny, as he opened the little gate in the white picket fence around the dear Old Bramble Patch.

“Dear, oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Grouse, hiding her brood under her wings amid the brown underbrush.

“Goodness gracious!” cackled little Henny Jenny, “I’m glad Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, is around. I hope the Farmer’s Boy won’t whistle to him.”

“Heigh, ho!” yawned Mrs. Cow, with a shake of her head, making the little bell on her collar ting-a-ling. “So old Danny Fox is out hunting!”

Then the motherly lady cow walked over to rub her nose against the silky ear of her long-legged little calf. “But you needn’t be afraid of that old robber. He eats only little defenseless bunnies and chickens. He’s no real hunter. Oh, my, no! He’s only a sneak thief.”

“What’s that you’re saying about me?” asked a voice, all of a sudden, quick as a lightning bug or a tornado.

There stood Danny Fox himself, close by the Old Rail Fence.

“Moo-oo! Moo-oo!” answered Mrs. Cow, lowering her head till her horns pointed right at his head.

“S-s-s-h!” whispered the sly old robber, “maybe the farmer will think you’re calling him!”

“Don’t you bother me, you old rascal.”

“I don’t care if he does,” answered Mrs. Cow, giving her head a toss, but quickly lowering it to bring the tips of her horns on a level with Danny Fox’s eyes. “Don’t you bother me, you old rascal.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Danny Fox, carefully peering here and there, however, for fear some one might be coming by, “I’m not afraid of you. Besides, you have a thimble on each of your horns.”

They weren’t real thimbles, you know, but the little brass caps which the Farmer had fastened on. Danny Fox thought they were thimbles because Mrs. Fox used a thimble when she mended Bushytail’s coat or Slyboot’s trousers.

“I don’t care what you say, you old robber,” answered Mrs. Cow with a loud moo-oo! walking up to the fence as brave as a fireman or a policeman. “Get out, or I’ll toss you over the Bubbling Brook, or maybe farther!”

“Now, don’t get disagreeable,” whined the old fox, “I’m going along. Maybe I’ll find a nice little rabbit for supper.”

But he won’t catch Little Jack Rabbit. No, indeed! That dear little bunny boy is safe in the Old Bramble Patch.

BUNNY TALE 5
THE RADIO ALARM

“Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Love, the little rabbit’s pretty mother, “where is my bunny boy?” and the worried lady rabbit hopped out of the kitchen of the tiny white bungalow down to the edge of the Sunny Meadow. Shading her eyes with her paw, she looked up the old Cow Path to the Big Red Barn, but no little bunny boy could she see there or anywhere.

“Dear me!” she sighed again, “what has become of him. I hope Danny Fox isn’t chasing him in the Shady Forest.”

For some time she stood at the edge of the Old Bramble Patch, looking across the meadow, but at last she turned and hopped up the little path through the brambles to the tiny garden in the rear of her pretty white bungalow.

“I’ll pick some carrots and lettuce,” she said to herself. Filling her apron, she had hardly turned to hop into her neat little kitchen when, all of a sudden, just like that, quick as the wind that blows off your hat, over the Old Rail Fence jumped Danny Fox.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” she cried.

“My dear, my dear!” laughed Danny Fox, creeping toward her, “how sweet and tender you look!”

Poor little Lady Love dropped the carrots and lettuce and hopped toward the barn, but Wicked Danny Fox was too quick for her. Then she tried to hop over to the woodpile, but the nimble old beast again jumped in front of her.

“You’d better let me put you in my bag,” snarled the cruel beast. “If you don’t, I’ll bite off your left ear.”

“Please, oh, please, don’t touch me,” cried the frightened little bunny lady. “Oh, oh, oh.”

Just then a friendly bark sounded near, and the next minute over the fence came the Yellow Dog Tramp.

“Get out!” he shouted, and, picking up a stick of wood, he hit the old fox over the head.

“Ouch! ouch!” yelled that old robber, and away he sneaked, leaving Lady Love and the kind dog to pick up the carrots and lettuce leaves.

“Dear me,” thought the old fox, as he ran into the Shady Forest, “it grows worse every day. Some one always comes at the wrong time.”

Yes, indeed, this old robber hardly knew what to do. Every time he started out from his den in the rocky hillside, somebody would call over the wireless:

“Danny Fox is going hunting!”

After that warning, of course, everybody locked his front door and bolted his back door and pulled down the window shades.

“My dear,” he said, one dark gloomy night to Mrs. Fox, “maybe I can bring home a chicken—it’s dark enough to hide me.”

So off he started with a big empty bag over his shoulder. As he softly crept through the Shady Forest he saw a little twinkling star.

“Now, who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself in a whisper. But, of course, as he didn’t know, he got no answer.

“I must be careful,” he thought, “it might be the Policeman Dog’s lantern.”

So the old robber fox hid behind a tree and waited. By and by, after a while, who should come along but a firefly. My, how her little lantern flickered and flared in the wind.

“Oh, ho!” said Danny Fox, “who’s afraid? I’m glad it’s not the Policeman Dog!”

The little firefly kept on her way, for, of course, she hadn’t heard Danny Fox thinking. As her little light had disappeared in the darkness the old robber came out of his hiding place.

Then off he started again for the henhouse.

By and by he reached the Old Barnyard. But just as he crept around the Big Red Barn, Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, looked out of his wooden house.

“Bow, wow!” he went, tugging at the chain which kept him home nights in his little bungalow, “wow.”

“Keep quiet, can’t you,” whined Danny Fox.

“Get out!” snarled Old Sic’em. “I’ll call the farmer.”

Just then who should hop by in the moonlight but Little Jack Rabbit on his way home.

“I guess I’ll catch that little bunny,” thought the old fox, sneaking around to the Big Red Barn.

“Now where is the old robber going?” the Weathercock asked himself, as he swung to and fro on his gilded toe.

He needn’t have asked that question, though, for just then he spied Little Jack Rabbit and a second later, Danny Fox.

“Dear, dear me!” thought the kind Weathercock, “I don’t want that wicked fox to catch that nice little bunny. What shall I do?”

All of a sudden he remembered the radio. On top of the Big Red Barn the Farmer’s Boy had fastened a set of wires which led down to his little room in the loft.

“Hello! hello!” shouted the Weathercock. “Danny Fox is after Little Jack Rabbit!”

The Farmer’s Boy must have heard him, for out of bed he jumped to call through the transmitter:

“Danny Fox is after Little Jack Rabbit! Danny Fox is out hunting!”

“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the Policeman Dog, as the message rang out in the Station House and, picking up his club, off he started for the Shady Forest.

Just then a soft voice whispered from the treetop:

“Danny Fox is close to the heels of Little Jack Rabbit.”

The dear little bunny was hopping down the forest trail happy as could be. He didn’t know that close behind was crafty Danny Fox. No, siree! He thought he was safe enough. Why, he never had a thought of danger.

“I’ll soon be home with Mother,” he said to himself when, all of a sudden—dear, dear! Will something dreadful happen?

“Now I’ll get you!” snarled Danny Fox.

“No, not yet!” barked the Policeman Dog, swinging his club. Whack! Down it came on the old fox’s head.

“Now, run!” shouted the Policeman Dog. And maybe Little Jack Rabbit didn’t go! Why, he went so fast that he left his shadow a mile behind him!

Then back to the Station House trotted the Policeman Dog, leaving the sly fox to get home as best he could.

In a few minutes the little bunny was safe in the dear Old Bramble Patch.

“Mother dear,” he said the next morning, “can’t I have a radio outfit for my very own?”

“Call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store and find out what it will cost,” she answered.

It took the little rabbit bunny boy just a minute or three to call up

“Rabbitville, 1, 2, 3.

Hurry up! It’s little me.”

“Now I’ll get you” snarled Danny Fox.

“Who’s Little Me?” asked a voice. Then, of course the little rabbit had to explain who he was, whether it looked like rain, and why the clover tops were not so red as last year. You see, the person in the Three-in-One-Cent Store was a very curious person, always trying to find out what was going on in the Shady Forest and the Sunny Meadow. Maybe he had once been a country boy rabbit before going into business at Rabbitville, U. S. A.

By and by he figured out what the cost of a radio outfit would be.

“When do you want it installed?” he asked, which means, set up.

“Wait till I ask mother,” answered the little bunny, hopping into the kitchen where the pretty lady bunny was making carrot cake and lollypop stew for supper.

“Dear, dear me!” she exclaimed, on learning that it would cost 230 carrot cents. “You’d better call up your Uncle Lucky. He’s rich enough to put in a dozen. Maybe he’ll order one for you. I wish I had the money,” and sweet Lady Love picked up her little boy rabbit and kissed him three times, once on the left cheek, twice on the right cheek and, last and best, on the mouth. “There now, run along.”

So away he hopped back to the receiver to tell the rabbit clerk at the Three-in-One-Cent Store that unless Uncle Lucky supplied the money there’d be no radio at the little white bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch.

“Too bad, and yet not so worse. Your Uncle Lucky is so fond of you that he might buy you a little Luckymobile some day, pretty soon,” answered the clerk.

After saying good-by, Little Jack Rabbit asked Central to give him:

“One, Two, Three,

Ring Happy Bell,

Uncle Lucky in Clover Dell.”

In a moment Uncle Lucky shouted: “Hello, hello! Who’s calling me?”

“Little Jack Rabbit,” answered the bunny boy, quick as a wink. “I want a radio set, but I haven’t enough money. All the other little boys are going to get one.”

“I don’t care if the radio set costs a million carrot cents,” shouted dear Uncle Lucky over the telephone when the bunny salesman at the Three-in-One-Cent Store suggested that a radio outfit was rather expensive. “Nothing is too good for my little nephew. Put it in right away so that he can listen to David Cory’s stories.”

“All right, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot,” respectfully answered the Three-in-One-Cent Store salesman, hanging up the receiver.

“This afternoon I’ll motor over to the Old Bramble Patch,” said the old gentleman rabbit to himself, sitting down in his comfortable armchair to read the Bunnybridge Bugle. After luncheon he hopped out to the garage and, telling the Old Red Rooster to weed the lettuce patch, set out for Little Jack Rabbit’s bungalow.

“Dear me! He had gone only a little way, not so very far, when something went wrong with the Luckymobile. Dear me! again. By the time it was mended, Mr. Happy Sun was nearly ready for bed. At last, however, dear Uncle Lucky arrived at the Old Bramble Patch, with his old wedding stovepipe hat and blue silk polkadot handkerchief. Honking the horn maybe a million times, less or more, he hopped out and into the little kitchen where Lady Love and her bunny boy were eating supper.

“Have you got any clover top pie?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, hanging up his old wedding stovepipe hat.

Of course Lady Love had. She had everything that was good to eat, you may be sure.

As soon as the supper dishes were cleared away, the three little rabbits hopped into the sitting room to hear the victrola sing:

“Oh, early in the morning

Before the sun is high,

I love to hunt for cherries

In mother’s apple pie.

And if Old Mother Hubbard

Can’t find her dog a bone,

I’ll take him to the candy store

To get an ice cream cone.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Uncle Lucky, and he told a funny story of a crab who, by walking backwards into an orchard, made all the trees bear crab apples, which so provoked the farmer that he boiled the crab and ate him for supper.

By and by the little cuckoo began to sing from her little clock house: “Time for bed, time for bed!” At once the three little rabbits hopped upstairs, first blowing out all the electric lights so that Hungry Hawk, who is always looking for little mice and rabbits, wouldn’t be able to see the little white bungalow.

And when everything was quiet a tiny fly asked Little Miss Cricket:

“Is there any cheese in Lady Love’s cupboard?”

But the little cricket wouldn’t tell where Lady Love kept all her good things and neither would I and neither would the canary bird who was sound asleep with her head under her wing.

The next morning, bright and early, Uncle Lucky shouted over the ’phone: “Is this the Three-in-One Cent Store? Don’t forget to put in Little Jack Rabbit’s radio apparatus?”

“We’ll have it installed to-day—don’t worry.”

“Let’s invite all our friends over to-night,” said Uncle Lucky, turning to Little Jack Rabbit.

In less than five hundred short seconds the two little bunnies were speeding away. Pretty soon they saw Squirrel Nutcracker on the doorstep of his Chestnut Tree House.

“Come over to-night and listen in over our new radio,” shouted the bunny boy.

“I’ll be there, thank you!” replied the old squirrel.

Next, Busy Beaver said he’d come; also Sammy Skunk and the Big Brown Bear. Then Uncle Lucky stopped at the Old Duck Pond to invite Granddaddy Bullfrog and Taddy Tadpole.

“What’s all the noise about?” asked pretty Mrs. Oriole from her stocking-like nest on the Old Willow Tree.

“Come over to my radio party to-night,” answered Little Jack Rabbit, as he drove over to the Barnyard.

“I’ll come,” crowed Cocky Doodle.

“I’ll be there,” said Goosey Lucy.

“I won’t be a second late,” promised Turkey Tim.

“Yes, we’ll come,

Make no mistake,

And don’t forget

The Angel Cake!”

shouted all the Barnyard Folk.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, “won’t we have a dandy radio party?”

BUNNY TALE 6
MR. WICKED WOLF

“Hop out of bed and wash your face

And neatly part your hair

Right down the middle of your back,

Then hurry down the stair,”

sounded the wake-up song of the musical alarm clock.

Out of bed hopped Little Jack Rabbit and in a few minutes he was ready for breakfast—nice carrot porridge with lettuce cream, turnip toast and a stewed lollypop. After he had polished the front door knob, fed the canary and filled with kindling the woodbox behind the kitchen stove, he kissed Lady Love good-by.

“Do be careful!” cautioned his pretty bunny mother, smoothing the blue bow at his little white throat. “Do be careful. Danny Fox is everywhere.”

“Don’t worry,” answered the little rabbit bunny boy, and away he hopped down the winding path through the brambles. Pretty soon he came to the Sunny Meadow, through which the Bubbling Brook gurgled and laughed until it splashed into the Old Duck Pond.

The Sunny Meadow was brown and barren. No lovely flowers smiled at the little rabbit as he hopped along. A few dry leaves scurried by as Billy Breeze whistled merrily.

“Where are you going, bunny boy?

Here is a penny to buy a toy,”

all of a sudden shouted Professor Crow from a treetop.

Nice carrot porridge.

“Oh, thank you!” answered the happy little rabbit, politely. “I’ll go right down to the Three-in-One Cent Store for a lollypop ice-cream cone.”

On the way he heard Squirrel Nutcracker scolding Chatterbox, his red squirrel cousin.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the little rabbit.

“Nothing but trouble,” replied the old gray squirrel. “Chatterbox tried to steal into my store house.”

“I did not!” answered the little Red Squirrel. “I only peeked in through a knot hole.”

“Let’s play a game of tag! You’re it!” shouted the bunny boy, clapping his paw on Chatterbox’s shoulder.

My, what a scamper after that! Over the fallen logs, across the Bubbling Brook and under the Old Rail Fence raced these three little people until, all of a sudden, they almost bumped into the Billy Goat Stage Coach.

“Stop! stop! I want to take a ride,

Pull in your Billy Goat Team,

I’m on my way to Turnip Town

For a lollypop ice cream,”

shouted Little Jack Rabbit.

“Whoa!” cried the Old Dog Driver, pulling in the billy goats right in front of the little bunny. “Stand still, Butter! Quiet now, Bouncer!”

“All right, I’m in,” called out the little rabbit, looking up through the open window at the good bow-wow driver.

“Gid-ap!” shouted the Old Dog, clicking his tongue on his long white teeth, and cracking his whip over the heads of his prancing billy goats.

Away went the Billy Goat Stage Coach, rattlety bang, over the bumps and over the stones till it almost crackled the bunny boy’s bones.

Pretty soon the Old Dog Driver shouted:

“Carrot City—Next stop, Turnip Town!”

“Wait, wait!” squeaked an old lady Pig, waving a green umbrella.

“Hurry up!” growled the Old Dog, “I’m five minutes behind time.”

“Where are you going?” asked the breathless lady Pig, as the polite little rabbit latched the coach door.

“Turnip Town, m’am,” he answered, opening his knapsack to slip in his little red-striped candy cane.

“Going for a visit?” enquired the inquisitive lady Pig.

“No, m’am,” replied the little rabbit. “Just going for a candy chocolate mouse.”

“Be careful, the peppermint cat might catch it,” said the lady Pig with a squeaky chuckle.

“Dear me!” sighed the little bunny, “is she as fierce as the farmer’s black cat?”

“Not quite,” answered the talkative lady Pig.

Just then the coach stopped and in hopped Daddy Longlegs. He wore a long linen duster and carried a cotton umbrella on his arm.

“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed, “if my dear little friend isn’t on board.” And, sitting down by the little bunny, he enquired all about the folks at home.

“Mother’s well,” answered the little rabbit. “She always wears two pink roses, one on each cheek.”

“How’s Uncle Lucky?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” laughed the bunny boy.

“He’s always well

And hops up with

The rising bell.”

“Turnip Town!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Dog Driver, and out jumped the little rabbit boy to buy his chocolate mouse.

“Dear me!” he sighed, as he hopped out of the candy shop, “I must hurry home,” and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip to the Shady Forest.

By and by, not so very far, a dreadful howl sounded close at hand. Dear me! before poor little Jack Rabbit could hop away somebody grabbed him by the throat.

“Ha, ha, ha! Now I’ve got you!” chuckled a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Wicked Wolf dropped the little frightened bunny boy into a big empty gunny sack. Then, throwing it over his shoulder, he started off for his den in the Shady Forest.

“Ha, ha, ha!” again chuckled Mr. Wicked Wolf, “what a nice dinner Mrs. Wolf and I will have to-night!”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “mother will never again see her little bunny boy come hopping up the path in the Old Bramble Patch.”

“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mr. Wolf, as he hurried along with the poor little rabbit.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the poor little bunny boy, all alone in the sack on the back of the big wicked wolf, “what shall I do, what shall I do? I’m a goner. Yes, I’m a goner, just as sure as

Monday follows Sunday

And sunshine follows rain,

And the little brook flows to the ocean,

And green apples give you a pain!”

Poor Little Jack Rabbit! all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

Just then a little voice from the treetop whispered: “Haven’t you a knife in your pocket, little rabbit?”

It was Bobbie Redvest’s voice, so low and sweet that Mr. Wicked Wolf, who was old and deaf, never heard a word.

“Oh, oh, oh!” thought the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little knees going clitter, clatter and his little heart pitter, patter, “I wonder if I have?” And he looked through his pockets one by one, his little pink nose trembling with fright just like a star on a frosty night. At last, oh joy! and a catch of his breath; he found his knife in the little handkerchief pocket of his coat.

Then he waited all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

There! It came again, the little voice from the treetop:

“Cut a hole—in the sack—

Oh, so care-ful-ly!”

All a-tremble, the little rabbit opened his knife and made a slit in the bag, oh, so qui-et-ly.

Then, thrusting out his head, he was just going to hop away, when the little voice from the treetop whispered:

“Wait—a—minute.”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “I don’t want to wait. I want to get away.” But he minded the little voice, and it was mighty well he did, for just then Mr. Wicked Wolf stopped short and said, “Gee whiskers, I’m getting tired. I guess I’ll sit down on this old log.” And down he sat, letting the sack slip to the ground. Taking out his old corncob, he filled it with tobacco and, scratching a match on his furry trouser leg, commenced to smoke.

“Now’s your chance!” whispered the little voice from the treetop.

Out jumped the little rabbit, but as he was about to hop away, oh, dear me! again the little voice from the treetop whispered:

“Wait—a—minute.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, “I don’t want to wait. I want to get away!” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.

“Pick up—that stone—and slip—it in—the sack—oh,—so—care-ful-ly.”

And the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little heart a-pitter-patter and his little knees a-clitter-clatter, picked up the stone and slipped it in the sack, oh, so care-ful-ly.

“Wait—a—minute!” whispered the little voice for the third time, as he was about to hop away.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, looking over his shoulder at Mr. Wicked Wolf’s hairy back, “if I wait another minute I’ll never get away.” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.

“Pin up the slit—in the sack—with three—pine needle—pins,” whispered the little voice. All a-tremble, the poor, distracted little rabbit hunted on the ground under the big pine tree until he found the three little pins. Then, oh, so, care-ful-ly, he pinned up the slit in the sack.

“Now’s your chance!” whispered the little voice. “Hide!”

The next minute the little rabbit had hopped behind a tree. Buttoning up his pretty white fur overcoat so that it wouldn’t show around the trunk and drawing together the tips of his little ears, he waited, oh, so anxiously, for maybe just a minute or three.

“Guess I’m rested now!” said Mr. Wicked Wolf, knocking the ashes from his pipe and slipping it in his pocket. Then, drawing the sack up on his shoulder, he started off for home.

“My, what a heavy little bunny you are!” he growled, as he trotted through the woods.

Pretty soon he jumped over the Bubbling Brook. But when he landed on the other side,

The great big stone

In the sack

Hit him a dreadful

Whack on the back.

“Oh, my! What a tough little rabbit you are! But wait till I get you home! Mrs. Wolf will stew you until you’re nice and soft and tender! Ha, ha!”

“Hey, mother,” he shouted, on reaching his little stone house on the wooded hillside, “I have a nice little rabbit for supper.”

Letting the sack slip to the ground, Mr. Wicked Wolf untied it, oh, so care-ful-ly! But, goodness gracious me! When he peeked in and saw a big stone instead of a tender little rabbit, wasn’t he angry?

Shoving in his paw, he pulled out the stone and hurled it across the Sunny Meadow. Whack! it came up against the old apple tree, knocking off twenty big red apples, which almost hit Little Jack Rabbit as he hopped safely back to the dear Old Bramble Patch, where Lady Love, his pretty bunny mother, stood waiting for her little boy at the gate in the old picket fence.

“Cousin Cottontail has invited us over this evening to hear the Jack Rabbit Man tell stories,” she said, kissing her little bunny boy.

“Ha, ha! That will be fine!” cried the little bunny, forgetting all about Mr. Wicked Wolf. Dear me, I wish that wicked wolf had forgotten all about the little rabbit. Then, with a skip and jump, he hopped on the porch.

“Hello, little rabbit boy,” twittered the canary from her gold cage. “What makes you so happy?”

“Didn’t you hear what mother just said?” he asked, with a twinkle of his pretty pink nose.

“No,” answered the pretty yellow bird. “What did she say?”

“That we are invited over to Cousin Cottontail’s to listen on the radio.”

Just then something happened. Isn’t it a shame that unpleasant things so often happen?

“No, you’re not going to hear bunny stories to-night,” growled a deep ugly voice, and there, just outside the Old Bramble Patch, stood Mr. Wicked Wolf. Dear me! How cruel he looked, his big red tongue hanging out of his mouth and his long sharp teeth gleaming like bowie knives in the sunlight.

“What—what are you here for?” asked the little rabbit, all a-tremble.

“Never you mind!” snarled the ugly beast. “I’ll wait here for you.”

“No, no, please don’t wait!” cried the frightened little rabbit.

“Gr-r-r!” growled the big ferocious animal; “I’d like to eat you. I would, if I could only break through into the Old Bramble Patch.”

Little Jack Rabbit didn’t wait to hear more. Quickly taking down the canary cage, he hopped one, two, three, go! into his little bungalow.

“Mother! Mother!” he shouted, skip-toeing into the kitchen, “something dreadful is going to happen to-night. Mr. Wicked Wolf is waiting outside.”

“You don’t say so!” cried the anxious lady bunny. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall we do? I declare, I wish your father wouldn’t go away on business so often.”

“How will we hear the bunny stories to-night?” asked the little rabbit.

“I gave him a shock of electricity.”

“Goodness knows!” replied his mother. “Maybe I’d better telephone.” But, dear, dear me! the wire was out of order and all you could hear was a dreadful buzzing like a million bees.

“Well, if I’m not mad clear through and through,” said Lady Love. “The idea of Mr. Wicked Wolf spoiling our evening. I believe he’s done something to the telephone wire,” and the ex-as-per-ated lady bunny again took down the receiver. Then, all of a sudden, she hopped over to the electric drop-light and, unscrewing the silk cord connection, placed it against the telephone.

Goodness me! What a howl of pain came from the outskirts of the Old Bramble Patch. With a laugh, Lady Love hopped over to the back porch and pointed to Mr. Wicked Wolf limping across the Sunny Meadow.

“He had pulled down my telephone wire,” cried the lady bunny, “but he let go when I gave him a shock of electricity. Ha, ha! I guess he won’t trouble us any more this evening.” Then putting on her little sunny bonnet with the pinky roses on it, she and Little Jack Rabbit hopped over to Cousin Cottontail’s house.

BUNNY TALE 7
TIMMIE MEADOWMOUSE

Little Jack Rabbit looked out of the tiny white bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch. The rain was falling and the Sunny Meadow wasn’t the least bit sunny. No, indeed. The Bubbling Brook was making a great fuss as it rushed along, sometimes overflowing its banks and making little lakes in the hollow spaces.

“Ker dunk! ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog from his log in the Old Duck Pond. He didn’t mind the rain. His rubber coat kept him nice and dry. As for his shoes, I guess he’d never outgrown his boyhood’s delight in bare legs.

Down from the Farmyard waddled Duckey Waddles on his big wide wabbly yellow feet. He loved the wet weather, oh, my yes. Pretty soon he went in for a swim, now and then, and sometimes oftener, standing on his head in the water to catch a little minnow.

“Quack, quack!” he shouted in answer to Granddaddy Bullfrog’s solemn “Ker dunk, ker dunk!”

Up at the Farmyard Cocky Doodle, Henny Jenny, Goosey Lucy and Turkey Tim stood out of the wet under the old cowshed, wondering how long Mr. Merry Sun would hide behind the gray rain clouds.

On the top of the Big Red Barn the weathercock turned to and fro on his gilded toe, for Billy Breeze was blowing across the open spaces, now sending the clouds helter-skelter over the sky, now bending the dripping bushes or shaking the raindrops from the apple trees.

“I wish you’d let me point to the West,” sighed the Weathercock. “Then it would soon clear up.”

“Maybe I will,” answered Billy Breeze, and all of a sudden he blew away a dark cloud and out came Mr. Merry Sun with a smile.

“Hurray!” shouted the Weathercock, swinging about on his toe to point to the West. “Now we’ll have a beautiful day.”

“I think so,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, hopping out of his pretty white bungalow and down the narrow path through the rough brambles to the Sunny Meadow.

Just then who should come along but Timmie Meadowmouse. My, but he was glad to see the lovely sunshine.

“Howdy! Have you heard the news?” he asked.

“What news?” asked the little rabbit, curiously, thinking, “Goodness me! Something dreadful has happened,” as he twinked his little pink nose and winked his two big pink eyes.

“Stop!” cried the tiny meadowmouse, “you make me so dizzy, I can’t think.”

“All right,” replied the little rabbit, “but hurry. I’m afraid something has happened to Chippy Chipmunk or the Big Brown Bear.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, taking off his little fur cap. All of a sudden, quick as a flash, or a smash or a dash, down from the sky swooped Hungry Hawk.

“Look out!” shouted the little rabbit, hopping under a bush. But, dear me! The tiny meadowmouse was just a second too late. The next minute up in the air he went, held tightly in the cruel claws of the old hawk.

“Help! help!” shouted poor frightened Timmie Meadowmouse, as higher and higher flew the big feathered robber until pretty soon he looked like a tiny speck in the sky.

“How can I save my little friend?” cried the unhappy bunny boy. But nobody answered him, not even Billy Breeze, who is such a good friend to all the little people of the Shady Forest and the Sunny Meadow.

The anxious little rabbit looked this way and that way, but all he could see was a tiny speck in the blue sky as the old robber bird flew swiftly away.

Just then the bunny boy noticed another speck in the sky, only larger and of a different shape.

“What is that?” he asked himself, hoping it might be the kind American Eagle who had once befriended him.

But no, it was not. No, indeed, it was something very, very different. Oh, my, yes, I should say so.

As there was nothing to be gained by standing still on the Sunny Meadow, the dis-con-so-late (which means hopelessly unhappy, little readers) bunny boy rabbit hopped away until, all of a sudden, just like that, he almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy, who was holding a long string that rose up and up and up into the air until it ended in a queer shaped something with a long tail that swung to and fro as Billy Breeze laughed and whistled across the white cloud meadows of the sky.

Yes, sir, Little Jack Rabbit almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy. You see, the little bunny, looking up into the sky as he hopped along, had paid little attention to his feet.

“Hello!” exclaimed the Farmer’s Boy. “Your eyes are filled with tears. What’s the matter, little rabbit?”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” cried the little bunny. “Hungry Hawk has carried off little Timmie Meadowmouse.”

“Where to?” asked the Farmer’s Boy, curiously.

“Do you see that little speck?” asked the sorrowful little rabbit, pointing upward.

“Yes,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Just to the right of my kite. Yes, I see it.”

“That’s Hungry Hawk,” sobbed the little bunny boy. “He has Timmie Meadowmouse in his claws.”

“I’m sorry,” answered the Farmer’s Boy, and then, all of a sudden, he started to run across the Sunny Meadow, pulling in the kite string at the same time. For a moment Little Jack Rabbit was too surprised to move. Then away he hopped after the Farmer’s Boy. You see, the little bunny was so sorry for the poor little mouse that he forgot all about his fear of the Farmer’s Boy. Yes, indeed, that’s what sorrow does sometimes, and maybe oftener. When we are sorry for some one else we often forget our own troubles.

By the time the little rabbit had caught up to the Farmer’s Boy there was a great commotion going on ’way up in the big blue sky. Oh, my, yes. I tell you what, that Farmer’s Boy was a clever fellow. He hadn’t lived on a farm all his life for nothing. No, indeed. He had taught himself things which the old schoolmaster never dreamed of as he sat at his desk in the little red school house on the hill, where the children’s feet were never still. My, how strangely that boy behaved! Suddenly he would dash off to the right, then away to the left; then backward, next forward, sometimes letting out the string, or winding it up again.

“What is he doing?” thought the little bunny boy, gazing up into the sky at the big kite, which seemed only a trifle larger than Hungry Hawk. Oh, dear, I’m so worried for fear that poor little mouse will be eaten by that dreadful old robber bird.

All of a sudden the Farmer’s Boy, with a yell of delight, started to run backward as fast as he could go. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” he kept shouting, as he pulled in the kite, hand over hand.

“What do you mean?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, all a-tremble, hopping about on one leg.

“I’ve caught the old hawk in my kite! I’m pulling him down, you betcher!” answered the Farmer’s Boy, as he carefully pulled in the string hand over hand, taking care to keep the string taut lest by a sudden slip backward the kite might untangle itself from the struggling bird. As the good home-made, brown paper kite slowly descended the little rabbit boy could make out the figure of Hungry Hawk pressed tight against the frame, his wings entangled in the face-strings.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Farmer’s Boy. “If I only had four hands and my gun along, I’d shoot the old bird from here.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” cried the little bunny boy rabbit. “You might hit Timmie Meadowmouse.”

“Like enough. Never thought about it,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Mebbe it’s just as well the old gun is home.”

By this time the kite was just overhead. Billy Breeze was helping all he could. He blew hard and strong, with a steady pressure, keeping the big brown paper kite from dipping. Maybe he was laughing at the old robber bird! Just then a little black figure dropped on a pile of hay on the Sunny Meadow.

“It’s Timmie Meadowmouse!” shouted the little bunny boy, but the Farmer’s Boy was so intent on his job he never turned his head. No, siree. He had all he could do to manage the kite. Frantically beating his wings, the old hawk wiggled and jiggled, this way and that, vainly trying to free himself from the clinging tied-together pieces of rags that formed the rudder to the big brown kite.

But, dear me! Just as the Farmer’s Boy reached up to grasp the fierce bird, either Billy Breeze forgot himself, or the good old kite could stand the strain no longer, or something gave way, a string or two, maybe a knot. All of a sudden, with a wiggle and jiggle, Hungry Hawk slipped out and sailed away, up and up, across the Big Red Barn to the freedom of the open sky.

Yes, away he went. And, oh, dear me!

I’m sorry that crafty old bird is free,

Much like a trouble that’s over to-day

With another one waiting us over the way.

But mother will teach you what to do,

So don’t be afraid of a trouble or two.

“Hello” exclaimed the Farmer’s Boy

BUNNY TALE 8
INVITATIONS

“Have you heard the news?” asked the Old Brown Horse.

“What news?” enquired Little Jack Rabbit, hopping along with the friendly steed under the warm rays of Mr. Merry Sun in the Big Blue Sky.

“Why, the circus is at Turnip City,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “The Circus Elephant, the funny clowns, and the roller skating bears.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” exclaimed the little rabbit. “I want to see them.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve never been to the circus!” whinnied the good Old Horse. “Well, you’ve got a treat.”

“Oh, take me to the Circus

To see the elephants dance!

Oh, take me to the Circus

Where the horses neigh and prance;

Where all the clowns make funny jokes

And try to tease the Circus Folks,”

begged the little bunny, hopping back into the Old Bramble Patch.

“So you’d like to go to the circus, eh?” asked Mr. Rabbit, winking at Lady Love, who was making Turnip Tea for Old Mrs. Bunny.

“Heard the news?” asked the Old Brown Horse.

“Please take me,” begged the little rabbit.

“All right, I’ll hire the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us, and maybe a few friends,” answered Mr. Rabbit, and up he hopped to call dear Uncle Lucky on the telephone:

“Central, give me Clover Dell,

One, two, three, ring Happy Bell.”

“Hello, hello, who’s calling me?

The wire’s buzzing like a bee,”

answered the old gentleman rabbit.

“Listen, Uncle Lucky! I’m hiring the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to your circus at Turnip City,” explained Mr. Rabbit.

“Well, I’ll come over with a bushel of passes,” answered the dear generous old gentleman bunny. “What time do you go?”

“At seven o’clock to-morrow morning. We must get an early start,” answered Mr. Rabbit.

“Now, whom shall we invite?” he enquired, turning to his small bunny son, who was hopping about, so happy to know he was going to the circus to see the animals and the clowns, and maybe a monkey and a bear and a Mexican dog without any hair.

“Whom shall we invite?” repeated Mr. Rabbit.

“All your friends and all my friends, and maybe some more,” answered the bunny boy with a hop, skip and jump out on the porch of the little white house in the Old Bramble Patch.

Just then the little canary bird in her gold cage began to twitter:

“The birds within the Shady Wood

And on the Meadow Green,

Are building nests of twigs and strings

And moss pressed in between.

But I’m content within my cage

To sing my sweetest song.

For discontent, my little boy,

Will often set you wrong.”

“I’m not discontented,” replied the little bunny boy, “I’m happy. Father is going to take me to the circus,” and he hopped down the path through the bramble bushes.

“Timmie Meadowmouse, Timmie Meadowmouse!”

“What do you want?” asked the tiny mouse, peeking out of his little round house of woven grass.

“Want to go to the circus? Father is going to hire the Billy Goat Stage. We start at 7 to-morrow morning.”

“I’ll be up bright and early,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, darting back into his little house to get out his best Sunday-go-to-meeting suit.

“Timmie Meadowmouse will go,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, hopping back into the house.

“Nobody will refuse, I imagine,” laughed Lady Love. “Whom else have you invited?”

“I’m going over to the Barnyard,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’ll invite everybody I meet,” and off he hopped. By and by, after a while, but not nearly a mile, he spied Granddaddy Bullfrog on his big log near the bank of the Old Duck Pond.

“Oh, Granddaddy Bullfrog! Father is going to hire the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to the circus to-morrow morning. We start at 7, right after breakfast. Will you come along?”

“To be sure I will,” answered the old frog. “I haven’t been to the circus for a long time. Hurrah! I’ll be a kid again and eat a ton of peanuts—maybe!”

“Be at the Old Bramble Patch on time,” shouted the little rabbit, who by this time was half across the Sunny Meadow on his merry way.

“Hello, hello! What brings you here?”

Asked the Weathercock from on high.

Always first to spy anything

With his wonderful lookout eye.

“I’m inviting all my friends to the circus,” replied the little bunny, with a happy laugh. “We all leave to-morrow morning at 7, right after breakfast. Where’s Cocky Doodle?”

“Here I am,” crowed the little rooster. “I heard you. I’ll go to the circus. Many thanks.”

“Cackle, cackle, what do you think,

This morning the sky was yellow and pink.

Mr. Merry Sun was just out of bed—

His nightcap crinkled all over his head,”

cackled Henny Jenny, who had just laid a pretty white egg in her little round nest.

“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit. “We start to-morrow morning at seven from the Old Bramble Patch. Father has hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to Uncle Lucky’s Circus at Turnip City.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll wear my nicest dress

And my pinky coral comb.

You’ll surely bring me back again,

For it’s very far from home.”

“Of course we will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Don’t forget me,” cried Goosey Lucy.

“Will you come?” asked the little bunny.

“To be sure,” answered the nice lady goose. “Don’t forget Ducky Waddles.”

“Where is he?” asked the bunny boy, looking here and there and everywhere.

“He went for a swim in the Old Duck Pond,” answered Henny Jenny.

“Why, I just came from there,” replied the little bunny. “I didn’t see him. I saw only Granddaddy Bullfrog.”

“Well, you see him now,” quacked a familiar voice, and there stood Ducky Waddles himself. He had just waddled around from behind the Big Red Barn.

“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.

“I couldn’t refuse,” laughed the nice little duck.

Now, I wonder next who will be invited to the Circus. Listen, and you shall hear, for the little bunny has just hopped around the Big Haystack.

“Mrs. Cow, won’t you come to the circus?”

“Where is it?” enquired that nice lady cow, whipping her tail to and fro to scare away the flies. “I can’t go far for my little baby calf needs me ’most all the time.”

“At Turnip City,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Oh, dear! You must excuse me,” replied Mrs. Cow. “That’s too far away. I’ll wait for Uncle Lucky’s Circus to come to Rabbitville. But thank you, just the same.”

“Now, who else?” thought the little bunny, when, all of a sudden, he spied Turkey Tim.

“Won’t you come to my circus party?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered the big turkey gobbler. “What time, and where, and how?”

“To-morrow morning at seven o’clock we all go in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. Be on time at the Old Bramble Patch,” and away hopped Little Jack Rabbit, his long ears catching the turkey gobbler’s poetry answer:

“I’ll be there before it’s seven,

I’ll be first of the umpty-’leven.”

Pretty soon the little bunny spied Squirrel Nutcracker in his gray fur suit, sitting on a tree stump in the Shady Forest.

“Oh, won’t you be glad when you hear what I’m going to say,” laughed the rabbit boy.

“Hurry up and tell me,” cried the curious squirrel.

“I’m giving a circus party,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “And we’ve hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all down to the circus at Turnip City. Want to come along?”

“Well, I guess yes three times!”

“Well, I guess yes three times!” answered Squirrel Nutcracker, springing up from the log to dance about on his hind legs. “It’s a whole year since I’ve been to the circus.”

“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow morning at seven,” replied the little bunny, and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, up the winding trail to the cave of the Big Brown Bear.

“Hello, hello!” shouted the little rabbit.

“What’s the matter?” enquired a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Bear came to the door, over which hung a big sign;

LOLLYPOPS AND HONEY.

“What can I do for you, bunny boy?

Do you wish a lollypop for a toy?”

he asked, his growly voice changing into a nice friendly voice on seeing the little bunny.

“I’d like a lollypop,” answered the little rabbit, “but I don’t want to play with it—I’ll eat it.”

“All right,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, shuffling into his cave for a yellow lollypop with little raisins on the top.

“I’m giving a circus party,” explained the bunny boy, sitting down beside the Big Brown Bear. “Want to come?”

“Well, I should say so,” answered the big kind animal. “I have a cousin who skates on wheels in Uncle Lucky’s circus. I’d like to see him.”

“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow at seven in the early morning. We’re all going in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. Won’t we have fun?”

“More fun than a bagful of monkeys,” answered the Big Brown Bear, filling his pipe with dry corncob silk and puffing away for maybe a minute and maybe more, while the smoke curled up to the top of the door.

“Who else is going?”

“Oh, everybody,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Granddaddy Bullfrog, Henny Jenny, Cocky Doodle, Turkey Tim, Goosey Lucy, Ducky Waddles, Timmie Meadowmouse, Chippy Chipmunk, and lots more whom I haven’t yet invited.”

“Will the Billy Goat Stage Coach hold them all?” asked the Big Brown Bear re-flec-tive-ly, which means “thinking it over,” dear little boys and girls.

“I guess so,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Some can sit on top and some under the seats and some on the seats, and—oh, yes, I’m sure it will hold us all.”

“All right, I’ll be on time, for

I love the clowns and the sawdust ring,

In fact, I love ’most everything

That’s in the circus and round about;

The lion’s roar and the elephant’s shout,

The pistol shot and the cracking whip,

And the chariot driver’s furious clip,”

sang the Big Brown Bear.

“I’ll be looking for you,” said the little rabbit, as he hopped away to invite more of his Shady Forest friends. In a little while he came to the Forest Pool. There sat Busy Beaver on the mud roof of his little house, happy and contented, for the day was warm and bright and he had slumbered well all night.

On seeing the little rabbit, he dived into the water and swam over to the bank.

“Hello, what brings you here?” he asked, for something in the little rabbit’s manner told him there was a surprise in store.

“Give you three guesses,” laughed the little bunny. “Three guesses and then two more.”

“Danny Fox been caught?”

“No,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Mr. Wicked Weasel in jail?”

“No,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Chippy Chipmunk has the measles?”

“No,” replied Little Jack Rabbit, with a shake of his head.

“Well, what is it, then?” asked Busy Beaver.

“Circus Party!” shouted the little bunny. “I’m giving a circus party at Turnip City. Have you been to Uncle Lucky’s Circus?”

“Not yet,” replied the little beaver.

“Be sure to come to the Old Bramble Patch at seven to-morrow morning. We’re all going down in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. So be on time and don’t forget, for we’ll have a jolly time, you bet,” and away hopped the little rabbit to invite other friends in the Shady Forest.

In a little while, not so very far, he met Peter Possum and his family.

“Won’t you all come to my circus party?” asked the bunny boy.

“What time?” enquired the old Possum.

“To-morrow morning at seven the Billy Goat Stage Coach will be at the Old Bramble Patch. So be on time and don’t be late, for we’ll not have a minute to wait,” shouted the little rabbit, hopping swiftly away to find another friend, and maybe two, for his circus party.

“I wonder whether Professor Crow would like to come,” thought the little bunny. “Maybe he’ll be pleased to be invited. Anyway, there’s no harm in asking him.”

“What’s the matter? Any one ill?

Doctor Quack has a wonderful pill,”

shouted the old Professor Bird looking out of his window as the bunny boy knocked on the tiny door in the Tall Pine Tree.

“I don’t need Dr. Quack, the famous duck doctor,” he answered. “I’m giving a circus party. Won’t you and Mrs. Crow and Blackie Crow come? We start to-morrow morning at seven right after breakfast from the Old Bramble Patch. The Billy Goat Stage Coach will take us all to Turnip City where the circus people are giving a show. I’m sure little Blackie will love to go.”

“We all will,” answered Professor Crow. “It makes me feel young again just to think of it. Thank you. We’ll be on time.”

BUNNY TALE 9
THE CIRCUS

Goodness gracious me! That Billy Goat Stage Coach will be dreadfully crowded if Little Jack Rabbit invites many more friends to his circus party. Of course, when you come to think it over, the birds can perch on the roof and the little animals crawl under the seats; maybe one or two might sit with the stage coach driver, the nice Old Dog who smokes a big pipe while holding the reins in his left paw and the whip in his right. Oh, he’s a good driver, so kind and gentle that the billy goat team will do anything for him.

“Dear me, I mustn’t forget a single friend,” thought the little rabbit, as he hopped over the Bubbling Brook and across the Sunny Meadow to the Old Brush Heap.

Up the well-worn little path he hurried, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, to Cousin Cottontail’s little bungalow under the trailing green vines.

“Cousin Cottontail,” he shouted, “where are you?”

“We’re here,” came the answer, and out popped all the little cottontails, one after another—five in all, their pink noses twinkling like so many little stars.

“I’m giving a circus party to-morrow,” said Little Jack Rabbit. “Want to come?”

Gracious me! I don’t see why he thought it necessary to ask five little bunnies if they wanted to go to the circus!

“Of course we do,” they all shouted at once, which brought Mrs. Cottontail to the door to find out what all the noise was about.

“What time do you start?” she asked.

“At seven to-morrow morning. We all go in the Billy Goat Stage Coach,” explained Little Jack Rabbit. “Please be on time, for if we don’t get an early start we may not reach Turnip City in time to see the Grand Parade of all the Queer People.”

“We’ll be over bright and early,” promised Mrs. Cottontail. “Don’t you worry about us. Maybe some of your other friends will keep you waiting, but not your old auntie.”

Pretty soon she brought out an apronful of nice cookies, just hot out of the oven.

Oh, what a nice feast all the little rabbits had! Nor did they forget to save the crumbs for Bobbie Redvest, who happened to pass by later on.

“Well, I guess I must be going,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, when the last cookie was gone. “Mother will worry if I’m late for supper.” And away he hopped, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, down the little path under the Big Brush Heap and across the Pleasant Meadow to the Bubbling Brook, over which he hopped to the Sunny Meadow. At last he was safe home in the dear Old Bramble Patch, eating a nice supper of stewed lollypops.

It seemed to him that he had hardly jumped into bed and fallen asleep when:

“Wake up, wake up! It’s almost time

For the Billy Goat Stage to be here.

Will I have to climb to your little bedroom

And shout it out loud in your ear?”

sang the cuckoo bird from her pretty clock house.

Out of bed hopped Lady Love and Mr. Rabbit; off came Grandma Bunny’s night cap, and in less time than I can take to tell it they were all dressed and in the kitchen, eating a breakfast of lollypop porridge, turnip tea and carrot cakes with maple syrup.

“All aboard for Turnip Town

To see the elephant and the clown;

It’s miles and miles to Turnip Square,

We must start now if we want to get there,”

all of a sudden barked the Old Dog Driver atop the Billy Goat Stage Coach.

“Wait a minute,” begged Grandmother Magpie.

“I’m coming,” panted the Big Brown Bear.

“Here I am,” called out Granddaddy Bullfrog.

“I’m on time,” laughed Cousin Cottontail, with her five little bunnies hopping after her.

“Who said I was late?” cackled Henny Jenny.

“Good morning, I’m here,” said Turkey Tim.

“Is there room enough for me?” asked Timmie Meadowmouse.

“I’ll sit on top,” sang Bobbie Redvest.

“So will I,” said Squirrel Nutcracker.

“And that’s where I’ll sit,” said pretty Mrs. Oriole.

“I’m with you,” cawed Professor Jim Crow, seating himself with his family.

“Room for one more?” asked Ducky Waddles.

“I was nearly late,” cried Cocky Doodle.

“Let me squeeze in,” crowed the Old Red Rooster.

“Don’t step on us,” chirped the Three Little Grasshoppers.

“Nor on me,” squeaked little Miss Cricket.

“Hold on, I’m getting in,” barked the Yellow Dog Tramp.

“I ran all the way,” panted Busy Beaver.

“So did I,” said Chippy Chipmunk.

“Any more?” asked the Old Dog Driver.

“Yes, yes!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky. “I’m going,” and the dear old gentleman rabbit hopped out of his Luckymobile and into the Stage Coach.

“I guess everybody’s here,” said Mr. Rabbit.

“Who’s that coming across the meadows?” asked the lady bunny, looking out of the stage coach window.

“Why, bless my pink tie and horseshoe pin,” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “it’s Goosey Lucy.”

As soon as she was aboard, the Old Dog Driver cracked his whip and away they went to Turnip City to see Uncle Lucky’s wonderful circus.

Over the bumps and over the stones,

While the lollypops rattled the ice-cream cones,

Went the Billy Goat Stage Coach with a quiver

Till at last it reached the Sippi River.

“Whoa!” shouted the Old Dog Driver, pulling in his team of billy goats. “Whoa!” and this time he said it so loud that an old duck waddled out of a little house close to the bridge gate.

“My gracious!” she quacked, “you have a load, all right. I never saw so many animals and birds in a stage coach before, and I’m an old duck. Oh, yes, I’m as old as a good many great-great-grandmothers.”

“What is the toll?” asked the Old Dog Driver, lighting his pipe and puffing out a cloud of smoke.

“Five carrot cents for the stage coach, ten carrot cents for the Billy Goat Team, two carrot cents for yourself, and three carrot cents for each passenger,” answered the old lady duck.

“Dear me,” whined the Old Dog Driver, “it will take some time to count it all up. How will a lettuce leaf dollar bill suit you?”

“Won’t do,” answered the old lady duck. My, wasn’t she particular, though?

“Well then, let’s start counting,” sighed the Old Dog Driver. “You count those on top and I’ll count those inside, and who gets done first, wins.”

“Wins what?” asked the old Lady Duck.

“A Little Jack Rabbit Book,” laughed the Old Dog Driver. “I have one in my pocket for your little grand duckling. Hurry up and win.”

Then, goodness me! How that lady duck did count! In less than five hundred short seconds she had finished and the Old Dog Driver had only just begun.

Well, sir, when it came to pay, the toll was more than a lettuce leaf dollar bill. Dear me, yes. But what it was I won’t bother to tell you, for I haven’t had time to count the passengers. Have you?

As soon as the toll gate swung open, over the bridge, pranced the billy goats, rapperty rap, rapperty rap, and before very long they were galloping up a steep hill, for those billy goats didn’t mind that. No, siree! They were used to climbing mountains and, besides, everybody was singing:

“I want to go to the Circus,

To see the elephants dance.

I want to run round the sawdust ring

In my very best Sunday pants.

I’m crazy to sip the pink lemonade,

Oh, get me in time for the Big Parade!

Oh, hurry up faster, for I am afraid

I’ll surely go crazy if we are delayed!”

My goodness! how that Billy Goat Coach rolled over the pebbles and over the stones. And how those billy goats pranced and threw out their heels, shook their heads and their long horns.

“Gid-ap!” barked the Old Dog Driver.

“Let ’er go!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky.

Away, faster than ever, and faster still, went the billy goats up the big steep hill, and down the other side to Rabbitville.

Along Lettuce Avenue they clattered, past the Three-in-One Cent Store, past the Welsh Rarebit Club and the Post Office, from the doorway of which the Old Maid Grasshopper waved a white pocket handkerchief; past the Old Mill where the Dusty Moth Miller ground the corn for the farmer bunnies; past the house of Dr. Quack, the famous duck doctor, and the little green house in which Mrs. Mouse lived.

Dear me! I could go on and on just like the old coach, and say so much that I’d have no room to put in what happened when it finally drew up in Turnip City.

“Whoa there, my good little billy goats!” shouted the Old Dog Driver, as the big Policeman Dog held up his paw to stop the taxis and wagons until everybody was safe on the sidewalk. Then the Old Dog Driver gave the billy goats a nice drink of water at the fountain and drove around to the wagon entrance on Cabbage Street.

Well, it didn’t take the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow people long to walk into the tent. Uncle Lucky headed the procession, Little Jack Rabbit next, then Grandma Bunny and Lady Love, Mr. Rabbit and the Big Brown Bear, until, way down at the end, waddled Ducky Waddles.

“Quack, quack! Please hurry!” he begged, beginning to fear the circus would be over by the time he entered the tent.

But he needn’t have worried, for the Old Dog Driver had arrived early.

“Come on, Timmie Meadowmouse,” cried the little bunny, “I must see the animals.”

Pretty soon they came to a little tent. They didn’t know it belonged to the Circus Queen, the lovely lady dressed in gauze and gold spangles, who rode on the big white horse.

There she sat on a circus trunk, holding in her arms a little baby.

“Hush-a-by, hush-a-by,

Little Boy Blue,

Mother is singing

A dream song to you.

Some day you’ll grow

To be a big Clown,

And you’ll make ’em laugh

In city and town.

But I’ll love you best,

If you’ll whisper ‘Goo, goo.’

To help me remember

How little were you.”

“Gracious me!” she exclaimed in a whisper on seeing Little Jack Rabbit and Timmie Meadowmouse, “am I dreaming? Maybe I’m in By-low Land!”

“No, m’am,” answered the little bunny, taking off his khaki cap, “I hear them calling you!”

“Some day you’ll grow to be a big clown.”

Sure enough, a man’s voice was shouting, “Liz, oh, Liz! Liz, Liz!”

“I’m coming,” answered the Circus Queen, tenderly placing the sleeping baby in its cradle.

Just outside stood a big white horse, and before the little bunny could say “Oh! Ah!” she was riding into the big tent. “Hurrah! Hurray! Here’s Lizzie Gray, she’s riding better every day!” clapped and shouted all the people.

But nobody knew she was a loving mother nor that just outside in the little tent slept Boy Blue.

All of a sudden the band struck up and a funny clown began to sing:

“Uncle Lucky’s Big Star Show,

That’s our circus name,

From Lettuce Square to Everywhere

We play the circus game.

Over the tanbark in the ring

I turn a somersault or a spring,

And then I give a merry laugh

That tickles to death the big giraffe.”

After that the big parade went around the ring, pretty girls dressed up as butterflies, elephants gayly decorated with diamond chains, camels carrying gorgeously gowned ladies, big floats with funny little dwarfs. Everything you can think of, and lots of things you’d never dream of.

My, wasn’t it fun. Well, I guess yes three times, and maybe four. I’m sure I can’t count, I’m so excited just writing about the circus.

For I’m still a boy I’ll let you know,

And I’m never too tired or fagged to go

To see the circus. Not me, you bet!

If it hadn’t closed down I’d be there yet.

“Hurrah!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit. “There’s the circus Queen!”

“Hurray!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, and the next minute he shouted it three times for the trained bear had begun to roller skate.

“The trained bear had begun to roller skate.”

Goodness me! How the Shady Forest Folk and the Sunny Meadow People enjoyed it all. Even Grandmother Magpie smiled and clapped her wings. As for Granddaddy Bullfrog, he hip-hurrayed until he grew so husky that he didn’t make a sound when he opened his mouth.

By and by, after a while, the show ended and Little Jack Rabbit’s Circus Party marched out and into the Billy Goat Stage Coach.

“Good-by, come again next year!” cried the big Policeman Dog on the street corner.

“Much obliged,” answered Uncle Lucky, waving his old wedding stovepipe hat. “We’ll be back inside a year, see you keep the crossing clear; let no taxi run us down when we come to Turnip Town.”

Then away rattled the stage coach, the two little billy goats prancing up Lettuce Avenue as gayly as you please.

“Toot, toot!” went the ferryboat whistle, as it neared the river. “Hurry up!” it seemed to say. So the Old Dog Driver cracked his whip over the heads of the billy goats and in a few minutes all were on board.

“Tinkle, tinkle!” sounded the bell, the big paddle wheels commenced to turn, and in less time than I can take to tell it the ferryboat was half across the River Sippi, and almost before dear Uncle Lucky could get his shoes shined it bumped into the ferry slip.

“Well, well, well! Here we are!” exclaimed the dear old gentleman rabbit, when the Billy Goat Stage Coach at last drew up before the Old Bramble Patch;

“There’s no place like home,

Be it ever so humble,”

Said the little gold bee

With a buzz and a bumble.

In a few minutes the coach was empty and as soon as the little people of the forest and meadow had thanked Little Jack Rabbit for a good time, they either hopped or ran or flew to their homes. Pretty soon there was nobody left, so the happy rabbit family hopped into the little white house in the Old Bramble Patch. In a few minutes the nice old lady bunny and Lady Love had prepared a nice hot supper.

“I declare,” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, setting down his cup of hot turnip tea, “that certainly was the best circus I’ve been to in many a year.”

“I’ll tell the world,” agreed Little Jack Rabbit.