E-text prepared by Richard Tonsing
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
([http://www.pgdp.net])
from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive
([https://archive.org])

He leaped into the air in one tremendous spring that carried him clear across to the other side

Twilight Animal Series

BUMPER
THE WHITE RABBIT IN THE WOODS

By

GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH

Author of “Bumper the White Rabbit”, “Bumper the White Rabbit in the Woods”, “Bumper the White Rabbit and His Foes”, “Bumper the White Rabbit and His Friends”, “Bobby Gray Squirrel”, “Bobby Gray Squirrel’s Adventures”, Etc.

Colored Illustrations by

EDWIN J. PRETTIE

TWILIGHT ANIMAL SERIES

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

FROM 4 TO 10 YEARS OF AGE

By

GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH

Issued in uniform style with this volume

PRICE 65 CENTS EACH, Postpaid

EACH VOLUME CONTAINS COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS

Copyright 1922 by

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY

Copyright MCMXVII by George E. Walsh

INTRODUCTION TO THE TWILIGHT ANIMAL STORIES

By the Author

All little boys and girls who love animals should become acquainted with Bumper the white rabbit, with Bobby Gray Squirrel, with Buster the bear, and with White Tail the deer, for they are all a jolly lot, brave and fearless in danger, and so lovable that you won’t lay down any one of the books without saying wistfully, “I almost wish I had them really and truly as friends and not just storybook acquaintances.” That, of course, is a splendid wish; but none of us could afford to have a big menagerie of wild animals, and that’s just what you would have to do if you went outside of the books. Bumper had many friends, such as Mr. Blind Rabbit, Fuzzy Wuzz and Goggle Eyes, his country cousins; and Bobby Gray Squirrel had his near cousins, Stripe the chipmunk and Webb the flying squirrel; while Buster and White Tail were favored with an endless number of friends and relatives. If we turned them all loose from the books, and put them in a ten-acre lot—but no, ten acres wouldn’t be big enough to accommodate them, perhaps not a hundred acres.

So we will leave them just where they are—in the books—and read about them, and let our imaginations take us to them where we can see them playing, skipping, singing, and sometimes fighting, and if we read very carefully, and think as we go along, we may come to know them even better than if we went out hunting for them.

Another thing we should remember. By leaving them in the books, hundreds and thousands of other boys and girls can enjoy them, too, sharing with us the pleasures of the imagination, which after all is one of the greatest things in the world. In gathering them together in a real menagerie, we would be selfish both to Bumper, Bobby, Buster, White Tail and their friends as well as to thousands of other little readers who could not share them with us. So these books of Twilight Animal Stories are dedicated to all little boys and girls who love wild animals. All others are forbidden to read them! They wouldn’t understand them if they did.

So come out into the woods with me, and let us listen and watch, and I promise you it will be worth while.

CONTENTS

Bumper the White Rabbit

In the Woods

STORY I
BUMPER HUNTS WITH THE PACK.

Bumper the White Rabbit, when he escaped from Edith, the red-headed girl who owned the garden where he lived, found his way into the woods, and, after many adventures with the Bats, the Crow, the Fox and Buster the Bear, he was adopted by the wild rabbits as their leader and king. The Old Blind Rabbit welcomed him, and told the story of how it was prophesied that some day a pure white rabbit, with pink eyes, would come to deliver them from their enemies, and teach them how to live in the woods without fear of danger.

No one had been more surprised than Bumper at this sudden welcome. At first he was for telling them he was no leader, and not fit to be their king; but, as he was very lonely and without a home, the fear they might drive him out of the burrow if he protested and explained he was just an ordinary timid white rabbit that had strayed from the city decided him to keep quiet and accept the situation.

Playing king was not an agreeable rôle for Bumper. In the first place, he felt unequal to it; and, in the second, he felt a good deal like an impostor. How Jimsy and Wheedles, his two brothers in the city, would laugh at the idea! They didn’t think he possessed any kingly qualities. They would even dispute his leadership in their own family.

But one thing gave Bumper considerable self-confidence. He was the only white rabbit in the woods. None of the wild animals, except Buster the Bear, who had spent a few years in a city Zoo, had ever seen a white rabbit. They didn’t believe such a creature lived. And the pink eyes! Why, they alone were enough to distinguish him from his country cousins, and set him apart as one to be admired.

There was no question about the admiration all the rabbits felt for him. Respect amounting almost to awe for his wonderful fur of white, and his eyes of a delicate shade of pink, made them feel that he was a real king of their tribe.

Bumper, after a while, grew accustomed to this admiration, and he began to feel pardonable pride in his beautiful fur. Perhaps, after all, there was something to the story the Old Blind Rabbit told. If looks made one a king then certainly Bumper was entitled to the position. He recalled the words of his mother, when she told him he was the handsomest of her children, with the purest white fur and the pinkest of pink eyes. Was that another indication that he was designed by nature to rule over his wild people?

But on one point Bumper entertained no illusions. He was conscious of his ignorance of the woods and the ways of the wild creatures. Why, he hardly knew one from another! He had failed to recognize Mr. Crow on their first meeting, and it is doubtful if he would have known Mr. Fox immediately if Mr. Bull-Frog hadn’t pointed him out. Buster the Bear he had recognized, for he had seen bears in the city Zoo, and the Bats and Mr. Sewer Rat were old city friends of his.

But the woods were full of other strange animals. He heard Spotted Tail, a big gray rabbit, and Fuzzy Wuzz, a demure little maiden of a rabbit with soft brown eyes, refer repeatedly to Billy the Mink, Mr. Beaver, Sleepy the Opossum, Browny the Muskrat, Washer the Raccoon and Curly the Skunk. Now to Bumper all these names meant nothing, for he had never met the owners of them.

Were they friends or enemies of the rabbits? If by chance he should meet one what would he do? Run away as from a great danger, or greet him pleasantly? Which were the dangerous animals, and which were the harmless ones?

Unable to answer this question, and dreading lest he make a mistake that might cause him embarrassment if he went out hunting with the pack, he pleaded weariness from his travels, and remained in the burrow for three whole days.

During this time he made it a point to ply the Old Blind Rabbit with questions, storing up in his mind for future use any words of wisdom that dropped from the shrunken lips of the former leader. His attention flattered the Old Blind Rabbit, who told Bumper many tales and stories of his people, and of the troubles they experienced in the woods.

“My gravest fear for my people is,” he said, “that they will never learn to be fearless and self-possessed. A very little thing frightens them and makes them panicky.”

Bumper stored this bit of information away in a corner of his mind. “I must not get panicky even if the others do,” he said to himself.

“And another weakness of theirs is that they always do the same thing over and over again,” continued the Old Blind Rabbit, “and our enemies know it, and thereby trap them.”

“I must never do the same thing twice alike,” Bumper reflected. “That’s dangerous in the woods.”

Many other bits of wisdom fell from the lips of the Old Blind Rabbit, and Bumper remembered all of them.

Of course, he couldn’t stay in the burrow forever. Sooner or later he had to hunt with the pack. They went out every day to get their food, and to enjoy the sunshine. So on the fourth day of his coming, when Spotted Tail asked him if he was going to accompany them, he said yes, and prepared to lead the way.

And on that first day he applied some of the Old Blind Rabbit’s wisdom, which greatly increased the respect of his cousins for him. They were feeding on birch leaves and bark in a clearing a long, long distance from the burrow when they were startled by the baying of hounds.

“The dogs and hunters are coming,” Spotted Tail exclaimed in fright. “When they appear we must run to the left.”

“Why to the left?” asked Bumper curiously.

“Because rabbits always run that way, making a wide circle to throw the hounds off their track.”

“But if you do that you’re sure to come back to the starting point, aren’t you?” asked Bumper.

Spotted Tail didn’t know. He had never given it much thought; but now that Bumper mentioned it he did recall many mishaps where rabbits pursued by the dogs ran plump into the arms of hunters who seemed to be waiting for them.

“It’s a simple trick,” added Bumper. “They send the dogs after you, and then stand still until you make a wide circle and come back to the starting point. Then they shoot you.”

“I don’t know,” replied Spotted Tail. “But we’ve always circled around to the left.”

“Well,” said Bumper quickly, “we’re going to run straight ahead to-day, and then when we have left the hounds behind we’ll go back to the burrow in another way.”

“But all of our people have circled to the left—” began Spotted Tail.

“Come, follow me, straight ahead,” interrupted Bumper.

There was surprise and consternation at this order. Old habits were strong, and Bumper was too new yet as a leader to impress all. Some followed him, and others without really intending to do it began circling around to the left.

Bumper and his followers reached home in safety. They easily shook off the dogs, and returned to the burrow without sighting the hunters.

But not so with Spotted Tail and the few older ones who had followed him. They had run plump into the hunters, and while no one was seriously wounded by the shots fired at them several limped and showed blood on their coats. The Old Blind Rabbit listened to the accounts of the chase, and then said:

“What is the use of having a king and leader if you don’t obey his orders and follow him? The next time, Spotted Tail, you will listen to wisdom.”

STORY II
BUMPER’S IGNORANCE EXCITES SUSPICION.

Spotted Tail was not pleased by the rebuff the Old Blind Rabbit gave him in the presence of the others. In particular he resented it because Fuzzy Wuzz, who had followed Bumper’s lead, sided against him, and seemed to think he was in the wrong.

Spotted Tail had aspired to leadership of the family after Old Blind Rabbit’s death. In fact, he had been acting in that capacity for some time before Bumper appeared, but always taking his orders from their old blind leader. The sudden elevation of the white rabbit to the position he coveted had not improved his temper.

There were several others who sympathized with Spotted Tail, and the division in the sentiment of the burrow made Bumper feel uncomfortable. He was no exception to the rule that “uneasy rests the head that wears a crown”, although in his case it was a crown in name only, that he wore.

But his first triumph in leading the pack gave him new courage, and perhaps a little bumptiousness. “All I’ve got to do,” he reflected, “is to use my wits. That’s what saved me from Mr. Crow and Mr. Fox.”

So Bumper began to study the ways of his country people more carefully. He made friends with Fuzzy Wuzz, and she taught him many things. For one, that it was much easier to lead the young people into new ways than the old ones.

But on the other hand Bumper found that the young rabbits were inclined to be careless and reckless, which often got them in trouble. Indeed, Fuzzy Wuzz herself was apt to make mistakes by doing things an older and more experienced rabbit would not.

But it was Bumper who made the greatest mistake of all the young ones, and through his ignorance nearly lost all the glory he had gained in leading his followers away from the hunters. It happened on the third trip from the burrow.

Goggle Eyes, a fat, lazy rabbit, who was forever stuffing himself, and thinking of his stomach, reported a wonderful feeding ground in a clearing where a woodsman had put up a cabin and planted fields of turnips, cabbages, lettuce and other luscious vegetables.

“He’s away all day,” said Goggle Eyes, “and we don’t have to wait until dark to raid his patch. I crossed it to-day, and ate some of the most delicious turnips I ever tasted. I’ll lead you to it.”

This was good news to the rabbits, for it was a long time since any of them had tasted turnips or cabbages. They don’t grow in the wild woods, and even Bumper hadn’t had a smell of one since he left the red-headed girl’s garden.

They were all eager to visit the field, and bright and early, under Goggle Eyes’s leadership, they sallied forth. The way was through the heart of the big woods, and then along a beautiful stream of water until they came to the clearing.

The field of vegetables was some distance from the cabin, and after Goggle Eyes announced that the coast was clear, they hopped through the rail fence, and began greedily filling their little stomachs. What a feast it was! Nothing had ever tasted better to Bumper and he munched the succulent leaves of the cabbages and lettuce and the thick, fleshy turnips until it seemed as if he couldn’t eat another mouthful.

Then out of sheer happiness he rolled around in the field. The younger rabbits, taking this as a signal for play, began rolling and frolicking around, too, chasing each other’s tails in and out among the vegetables. Bumper forgot all the dignity of a king and played the hardest of any.

Goggle Eyes picked off a big cabbage leaf and tried to hide from the others under it. Spotted Tail jerked up a small turnip by the roots, and threw it over his head at him. Fuzzy Wuzz kicked up her hind legs and sent a shower of dirt all over Goggle Eyes hiding under the leaf.

Not to be outdone by the others, Bumper looked around for something to throw. Near him, hanging from a low branch of a bush, was a big gray ball that wasn’t either a vegetable or a stone. He bumped against it with his nose, and found it so light that he could lift it with his front paws easily.

“Look out!” he shouted gleefully. “I’m going to throw this ball at you, Goggle Eyes!”

All the players turned, and when they saw what it was they looked a little horrified, and then taking Bumper’s threat as a joke they laughed.

“I dare you to do it!” exclaimed Spotted Tail.

This dare was accepted at once.

“Stand back, all of you, then!” Bumper added. “I want to aim straight. No,” he continued, changing his mind, “I won’t throw it at Goggle Eyes. I’ll toss it up in the air, and

‘What goes up must come down,

Either on heads or on the ground.’”

“You can’t do it, Bumper!” exclaimed one of the older rabbits.

“Can’t do it!” retorted Bumper, puffing up his cheeks at what he considered a challenge to his strength. The ball was twice the size of his head, and at a distance looked big and heavy. But Bumper had tested its weight, and found it light and easy to handle. Here was a good chance to make them think he was strong and muscular.

He laughed good-naturedly, and added: “I’ll show you if I can’t! I’ve thrown bigger balls than this one.”

He turned to grab it in his two front paws, but Fuzzy Wuzz turned suddenly pale, and cried:

“Oh, Bumper, don’t—please don’t!”

Proud of the attention he was attracting, and pleased at the thought that Fuzzy Wuzz didn’t want to see him strain himself, he smiled, and put all the strength he had in the pull that loosened the big ball from the twig. After that it was easy to lift it in his two paws. It was almost as light as a toy balloon.

All the rabbits set up an exclamation of surprise and horror. “Oh! Oh! Run!” they shouted.

Of course, Bumper thought this was from fear that the ball might be thrown at them, and he smiled. But when they all scampered away to a great distance, and a queer humming sound came out of the ball he held in his paws, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake through ignorance.

It did not take him long to find out. The humming and buzzing inside the ball increased, and then out of one end appeared Mr. Yellow Jacket and his wife and all their children. The ball was a hornet’s nest, and the irate family were pouring out of their home pell-mell.

Bumper felt a sharp sting on the end of his ear, a sting like the pricking of a thousand needles, and another on the tip of his nose. With that he gave a squeal of pain, and threw the ball far from him. The next he scampered away after the others, pursued by a dozen angry Yellow Jackets.

It was not until they were at a safe distance that they stopped. Then Spotted Tail turned to Bumper, and said:

“What an idiot you were! Or didn’t you know it was Mr. Yellow Jacket’s home?”

Bumper was on the point of confessing his ignorance when he thought of the consequence. A king should know everything, and to admit he didn’t know a hornet’s nest from a ball would be a terrible blow to his pride. So he suppressed the groan that the pain on his ear and nose caused, and said indignantly:

“Know it was Mr. Yellow Jacket’s home! Why, what an idea! But somebody had to pull it down, or Fuzzy Wuzz and the children might get stung. It was better that I should suffer than they, wasn’t it?”

Which speech they all applauded, and said that Bumper was as brave as he was wise.

STORY III
BUMPER SAVES FUZZY WUZZ FROM SNAKE.

While accepting smilingly the plaudits of the others for what seemed to be great bravery on his part in tearing down the hornet’s nest in the vegetable patch, Bumper was greatly disturbed by his display of ignorance. Had it dawned upon him that the big round ball was the home of Mr. and Mrs. Yellow Jacket, he would have scampered away with the rest.

It was a narrow escape from disgrace. Spotted Tail had been suspicious, but Bumper’s ready wit in turning aside the awkward question had won him further glory. But right down in his heart he wasn’t sure that Spotted Tail had been convinced. He eyed Bumper curiously. Bumper was certain that he was watching him with suspicious eyes.

“I must be more careful,” he reasoned. “Spotted Tail has no love for me.”

But if Spotted Tail was disloyal, Fuzzy Wuzz was the soul of honor and loyalty. She looked at Bumper through her meek, brown eyes in a way that made him happy. Fuzzy Wuzz was a particularly handsome rabbit, and there was royal blood in her veins. She could trace her ancestry way back to the first leader of her race, the white rabbit who had predicted the coming of Bumper. That was so many years ago that none but the Old Blind Rabbit had any memory of it. But the blood of this royal leader still showed itself in many of his descendants.

For instance, Fuzzy Wuzz had more white than brown or gray on her back and head. Her breast was pure white, and most of her head, while there were patches of it on her sides. But the mixture of blood had given her some very dark coloring, which made her anything but a white rabbit.

Fuzzy Wuzz was bright and cheerful, always smiling or laughing, and her wit sometimes equalled that of Bumper. It was not unnatural, therefore, that Bumper should select her for special marks of friendship. A close intimacy sprang up between them, and they often hopped off in the woods together to feed by themselves.

Bumper found that Fuzzy Wuzz knew a lot more about wood lore than he, and pursuing his plan to gain all the information he could from every one he made good use of her friendship. Pretending to test her knowledge, he would ask her all sorts of questions, which she answered readily like a school boy being quizzed by his teacher.

“Why do you ask me such silly questions?” she asked one day. “You’d think I didn’t know anything.”

“No, that isn’t it,” replied Bumper, assuming a friendly attitude. “I don’t want you to get in trouble in the woods and when Old Blind Rabbit trusts you with me I must be sure you know how to look after yourself if I should leave you for an instant. What would you do, for instance, if Mr. Fox should appear and chase you?”

“Why, I’d run if I could. Maybe I’d be so frightened I’d fall down in a faint.”

“That’s what you shouldn’t do,” cautioned Bumper. “If you get panicky you’d lose your head, and run right into his jaws.”

“What would you do if he chased you?” she asked.

“I’ll tell you what I did do when Mr. Fox nearly caught me,” he replied. Then he related to her the story of how he had induced the fox to look at the sun until he was temporarily blinded. Fuzzy Wuzz laughed at this until the tears ran down her cheeks. Then she added:

“It was very bright of you. I’m sure I’d never think of such a trick.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Bumper. “You’re bright enough, but if you lost your wits you might forget what to do.”

It was shortly after this conversation that Fuzzy Wuzz got in trouble, and Bumper came to her rescue and saved her by his wits. They had been feeding on the luscious stalks of wild celery near the marsh when they gradually got separated. Fuzzy Wuzz was nibbling away at the leaves all unconscious of danger when she was startled by a loud hiss in front of her.

She looked up in surprise, and saw facing her not a foot away a tremendous blacksnake. He was the king blacksnake of the woods, with a body almost as big around as her head, and a tail that stretched way off in the distance. The rabbits called him Killer the Snake because he had destroyed so many birds and young bunnies. He was so big and ferocious that he could swallow a small rabbit whole.

When Fuzzy Wuzz saw Killer the Snake so close to her she became paralyzed with fear. Instead of using her wits as Bumper had cautioned when in danger she simply crouched down, and made a pitiful little noise of terror. Killer, conscious of his magnetic power, swayed his head back and forth, his small, beady eyes on her, and began approaching in slow, rhythmic motions. Fuzzy Wuzz for the life of her couldn’t move, but she kept up her pitiful little moaning.

It was this noise that attracted Bumper, and he called out: “What’s the matter, Fuzzy Wuzz?”

There was no answer but the moaning continued. Bumper stopped chewing the delicious leaf he had in his mouth, and hopped in her direction. His coming must have disturbed Killer, for he shook his head angrily, and half turned to face this unknown thing hopping through the bushes.

Bumper came upon Killer from behind. He had never seen a snake before, but the long black body half coiled like a rope instantly told him that it meant danger. A sight of Fuzzy Wuzz confirmed his suspicions. Bumper’s first intention was to pounce upon the snake to save Fuzzy Wuzz. Then he stopped to think. No, this would never do. Killer might then turn and make short work of him.

Bumper kept at a respectable distance while he tried to work his wits, although this was difficult with Fuzzy Wuzz’s pitiful moaning in his ears. Then suddenly he saw his opportunity.

Some distance back from Killer was a big tree that had been snapped off near the ground by a terrific wind. It was still held suspended in air by a few branches and the bark that had not been broken by the storm.

Bumper turned and hopped toward this tree. Killer watched him suspiciously, but as he remained at a safe distance he turned his head slowly back to Fuzzy Wuzz. Bumper began gnawing at the bark which held the tree suspended over the spot where Killer lay. He gnawed with his sharp teeth until they began to bleed.

Fuzzy Wuzz, thinking that he had deserted her, moaned louder than ever, and Killer, sure now that Bumper wasn’t going to attack him from the rear, turned all his attention to his victim. It was a moment of terrible suspense to Bumper. Would Killer reach Fuzzy Wuzz before he could cut the bark so the tree would fall? How tough the bark seemed! He gnawed and chewed with all his might, ripping big pieces off it. But still the tree hung suspended in the air.

Then suddenly, after one desperate effort, Bumper was rewarded by seeing the giant trunk drop down an inch then two inches, then—

There was a crash like a thunder-clap, and sticks and branches flew in the air. Bumper jumped to one side as the big trunk fell to the ground, catching Killer by the tail. The tree fell right across the lower part of the snake’s body, and pinioned him there.

The tree fell right across the lower part of the snake’s body

“Now run, Fuzzy Wuzz!” shouted Bumper. “There’s no danger!”

Fuzzy Wuzz gave one quick glance at the squirming, twisting snake, and then darted off toward home, with Bumper close behind her.

STORY IV
SPOTTED TAIL SHOWS ENMITY

You can imagine how grateful Fuzzy Wuzz was to Bumper for saving her from Killer the Snake! Not only that, but she was mightily impressed by his wisdom. Who but a king would have thought of gnawing off the butt of the tree so it would fall on Killer!

She was so grateful that she told the story again and again to her people, and they seemed as greatly impressed as Fuzzy Wuzz at Bumper’s shrewdness. But Spotted Tail was not pleased. Perhaps he was still suspicious, and thought it was more luck than knowledge that had saved Bumper’s reputation. He still believed that Bumper had never seen a hornet’s nest until that day he innocently mistook Mr. Yellow Jacket’s home for a big, harmless ball.

This fact, coupled with several other little things that he had observed, Bumper’s avoidance of certain plants, for instance, that he seemed to think might be poisonous until the others ate them, convinced him that Bumper was not fit to be the leader of his people.

“If Old Blind Rabbit could see with his eyes,” he reasoned, “he’d know, too. But some day I’ll catch him, and show him up. He’s no king, for a king should know everything.”

By letting such things dwell upon his mind, Spotted Tail worked himself up into a pitch of excitement that was not pleasant. He fancied himself wronged by Bumper. If the white rabbit hadn’t come into the woods, Spotted Tail would have been chosen the natural leader.

Jealousy and spite are enough to sour any disposition, and Spotted Tail was in a fair way of showing that he was not really fitted to be a leader. A good leader never grows sullen and discontented because somebody else happens to get more favors than he. Fuzzy Wuzz’s attachment to Bumper further increased Spotted Tail’s displeasure. In time he came almost to hating Bumper, and tried to think of ways and means to disgrace him before the others.

Bumper was only partly conscious of this feeling toward him. He knew that Spotted Tail was suspicious of his knowledge of wood lore, and he was on his guard all the time to prevent any mistake that would give him away. But he never dreamed that the big rabbit was beginning to dislike him. He seldom hunted with him, and had few words with him, but there had been no open enmity between them.

Then one day in the woods Bumper found himself unexpectedly separated from the others, with only Spotted Tail in view. Fuzzy Wuzz and the rest had crossed the brook on a natural rustic bridge of logs, and were feeding on the opposite side when Bumper discovered them.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “How’d they get across there? Surely, they didn’t jump that distance.”

Spotted Tail, to whom this was addressed, replied:

“You should know by this time that a rabbit never jumps a stream that he can get across any other way.”

Bumper nodded and smiled. “Still, I don’t see how else they got across.”

Spotted Tail said indifferently:

“Oh, I suppose they crossed on Mr. Beaver’s house.”

This remark caused Bumper to reflect. He had heard of Mr. Beaver, but he wasn’t sure just what kind of an animal he was. And his house was more of a mystery to him than anything else.

“On Mr. Beaver’s house?” he asked, before thinking. “Oh, you mean—”

He stopped in confusion, and Spotted Tail smiled gleefully.

“You mean what?” he asked, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “Don’t you know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds?”

“Why, what a question?” laughed Bumper, trying to evade a direct answer.

“I think it’s a very natural question,” added Spotted Tail. “I don’t believe you ever saw Mr. Beaver or his house.”

Bumper laughed heartily at this, but it was a laugh to conceal his embarrassment and not an expression of his enjoyment.

“Ho! Ho! You can be very comical if you want to!” he said. “Now maybe you can describe what sort of a house Mr. Beaver builds. Let me see if you can.”

But Spotted Tail felt he had Bumper in a corner, and he wasn’t to be bluffed. “I could describe it,” he said, leering, “but I don’t have to. If you have any eyes in your head you can see for yourself what it is like.”

“How’s that?” asked Bumper, growing more uncomfortable.

“Just what I said,” was the quick rejoinder. “We’ve been standing near it for some time, and you can see it with your own eyes—if you know where to look for it.”

“Oh! Ho!” laughed Bumper, less joyously than before. “Mr. Beaver’s house is in plain sight, is it? Well, then, neither one of us will have to describe it.”

“No, but where is it?” pursued Spotted Tail relentlessly.

Now Bumper was in a terrible quandary. There was nothing in view that looked like a house. So he cast a glance up at the trees, hoping to find it among the branches, and then back through the thick, tangled bushes. There was nothing in sight that suggested the home of any animal.

All the time his eyes were searching around for some evidence of Mr. Beaver’s house, Spotted Tail was watching him with an exultant grin on his face.

“Ah! I thought so,” he said finally, with a triumphant grin on his face. “You don’t know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds. You don’t even know where he builds it. You’ve been looking for it up among the trees, and back in the woods. Ho! Ho! And you call yourself a leader—the king of the rabbits! Why, you don’t know anything about the woods.”

Bumper felt he was cornered, and he was mighty glad the others were not present to witness his discomfit.

“Now, if you’re king, show me where Mr. Beaver’s house is, and where he builds it!” continued Spotted Tail. “If you can’t I’ll go back and tell all the others you’re an ignorant impostor. You’re no king! You don’t know anything about the woods or its people. A king indeed!”

There was such scorn and contempt in the voice that Bumper winced. He realized for the first time that he had an enemy in Spotted Tail. There was no other excuse for his words and actions.

“Spotted Tail,” Bumper began in an injured voice, “why do you dislike me, and try to offend me?”

“Don’t give me any such talk,” rudely interrupted the other. “I see through it all. You’re trying to avoid the question. Answer me! Where’s Mr. Beaver’s house? If you don’t know, confess your ignorance.”

Bumper’s wits failed him for the first time. He saw no way out of the corner. Spotted Tail had him, and the disgrace of confession was horribly mortifying.

A sudden splash in the water attracted his attention. A big rat-like animal was swimming toward the shore, with only his head and muzzle above the surface. Bumper watched him in fascination. When he reached the shore, he crawled upon it, and said quite angrily:

“I wish, Mr. Spotted Tail, your people would stop crawling across the roof of my house. It annoys me very much. I was fast asleep when they thumped over it.”

Spotted Tail was deeply upset by this interruption, and Bumper’s wits, coming to his rescue, made him smile. Speaking at a venture, he addressed the rat-like animal.

“I’ll ask them not to do it again, Mr. Beaver. Of course, it is very annoying to be disturbed when asleep by people climbing over the roof of your house.”

“Thank you!” replied Mr. Beaver, dipping into the water and swimming back to his dam. Bumper pointed to the dam across the stream, and said to Spotted Tail: “There’s Mr. Beaver’s house.”

STORY V
A TEST OF FLEETNESS

Confident that he had Bumper cornered, and that nothing but the timely appearance of Mr. Beaver had saved him from disgraceful confession, Spotted Tail returned to the burrow in an angry mood. He had not stopped even to look when Bumper triumphantly pointed out the beaver dam. He had hoped to be able to tell the others how Bumper was ignorant of such a common thing as a beaver’s dam, and now he had nothing but an empty triumph. Mr. Beaver had spoilt everything for him—that and Bumper’s ready wit.

But he was all the more determined to show him up. He began to brag about his knowledge of woodcraft, telling many stories of his shrewdness and skill. Bumper remained quiet, and listened with the others.

Spotted Tail then switched to another subject. “But it takes more than knowledge and skill to be a good leader,” he said. “One must be as swift as the wind as well as wise as the owl.”

He stopped suddenly and turned to the white rabbit. “A king ought to be the swiftest runner of his people, Bumper. Don’t you think so?”

“Yes, I suppose he should be, if—”

“Then are you the fleetest runner in the woods?” interrupted Spotted Tail.

“Why, I’ve never tried it. I’m sure I don’t know,” Bumper stammered.

Spotted Tail, sure of his fleetness of foot, decided to challenge him to a race. Nothing would humiliate Bumper more than to be defeated in a speed trial.

“A king should not only be the swiftest and wisest of his people,” he said slowly, “but there should be no doubt in his own mind of it.”

“A king doesn’t always tell what’s in his mind,” replied Bumper.

“No, but he should prove his skill and ability when challenged,” was the quick retort.

“I didn’t know that I was challenged,” replied Bumper, in a weak voice.

Spotted Tail smiled wickedly. “But you are, Bumper. I, Spotted Tail, the swiftest and strongest rabbit in the woods, and the wisest, challenge you to run a race with me. Are you afraid?”

Spotted Tail’s friends immediately clapped their paws and nodded their heads. Fuzzy Wuzz and the other followers of Bumper looked a little worried, but their faith in their white leader came to their rescue.

“Yes, yes,” they said in a breath, “Bumper will race Spotted Tail, and prove to him that he is no longer the swiftest and strongest rabbit of the woods.”

“Of course! Of course!” echoed Spotted Tail’s friends. “There will be a race—a fair race—and a long race. We will all turn out to see it.”

Bumper’s heart began to quake. Spotted Tail had long, powerful legs and he could use them to good purpose. He was cut out for a fleet runner, and Bumper had no illusions on that point. His life in the city had never given him a chance to train for long running, and his muscles had never been fully developed. He had his misgivings about his speed when compared with that of this big, powerful wild cousin of his.

Yet, as he recalled the wild flight he had made when pursued by the bats in the sewer, and of his subsequent race with Mr. Fox in the woods, a smile crept into his face. He had certainly run fast on those two occasions.

“Fear makes a rabbit run faster than anything else,” he remembered hearing the Old Blind Rabbit remark one day.

“I wish then,” Bumper said to himself, “if I must race with Spotted Tail I’d get a good fright. Maybe I would beat him then.”

There was no way out of the challenge. Spotted Tail had made it, and all the others, including friends and foes, had taken it up. Bumper could not withdraw without disgracing himself.

The test of speed was to be one of endurance as well as of fleetness of foot. It was arranged to run a mile straight out to Mr. Beaver’s dam, and back again. A committee of four were to wait for them at the dam to see that each contestant rounded the point. This would prevent any trick on the part of either one.

Bumper realized right away that it was speed and endurance that would tell. Wit and wisdom would have nothing to do with the decision. Spotted Tail really had the advantage, for he was more familiar with the trails and by-paths so that he could seek out the best in going and coming.

Nevertheless, Bumper put up a brave front, and entered the race with the determination to do his best. They started from the burrow on even terms, and shot through the bushes at a tremendous speed. For a time they kept abreast within sight of each other. Then they became separated, for Spotted Tail veered off to the right to follow an easier trail.

Bumper had great difficulty in getting to the beaver’s dam, for twice he got lost in the bushes, and had hard work finding the trail again. He lost so much by this that when he reached the dam, he was not surprised to hear his friends shout:

“Hurry! Hurry, Bumper! Spotted Tail’s on his way back!”

The first half of the race was lost to him; but he could not refrain from calling back to his friends: “The race is never decided until it’s finished.”

Fuzzy Wuzz and the others clapped their hands at this confident remark. Instead of losing faith in him they were more certain than ever that Bumper would win.

Well, it didn’t look so to Bumper. He felt that he could never overtake Spotted Tail and beat him to the finish. He might be a quarter of a mile ahead of him, and running like the wind. The disheartening effect of being beaten to the first stake told on his speed, and he ran only half-heartedly.

Then suddenly out of the bushes on his right sprang something red and flashing. Bumper caught sight of it, and his heart gave a great bound of fear. It was Mr. Fox!

Bumper’s fright was so great that he sprang over a clump of bushes that he never thought he could clear. Then, with his heart in his mouth, he ran for dear life. The Old Blind Rabbit’s wise remark that “fear makes a rabbit run faster than anything else” never occurred to him. He was too frightened to think of anything. But, oh, how he ran! His feet barely touched the ground. He seemed to be flying rather than running. Never—not even when the Bats pursued him—had he run so fast.

And the fox kept close behind him, gaining a few steps now and then, but losing whenever Bumper took one of his wild leaps. It was a terrible race, in which death or life was the stake. If he weakened or faltered an instant, those red, dripping jaws would have him.

When Bumper came within sight of the burrow near the big rock, he could see the rabbits waiting for the end of the race. They were talking and chatting among themselves. Spotted Tail was not in sight. Perhaps he had already finished.

“Scatter! Scatter for your life!” called Bumper, as he took a wild leap in the air.

“It’s Bumper!” some one cried. Then they caught sight of the red streak in pursuit. “Mr. Fox is after him! Run for the burrow!”

They scampered for shelter just as Bumper cleared the starting line and eluded the fox by a narrow margin. Once inside the burrow, he asked: “Where’s Spotted Tail?”

“He hasn’t come yet. You won the race, Bumper!”

And later, when Spotted Tail appeared, he was in a crestfallen mood, for when the race was apparently won by him he had been frightened off the trail by the sudden appearance of Mr. Fox. Instead of running straight ahead, he had dodged into the bushes to hide.

“When you’re racing,” remarked Bumper, “you don’t want to turn aside for anything—not even to save your hide.”

STORY VI
A TEST OF COURAGE

Spotted Tail was so chagrined by losing the race that he immediately began to scheme to humiliate Bumper in some other way. He was confident that the race hadn’t gone to the swiftest and strongest, but he could not convince the others of this. The story of how the tortoise beat the hare in a race, because the latter had lain down to sleep on the way, was an old joke among the rabbits, and Spotted Tail’s excuses only aroused mirth and derision.

No, clearly, Spotted Tail could not redeem his lost glory by challenging Bumper to another race. But there were other ways to discredit him in the eyes of his people.

“Oh, Bumper, King of the rabbits!” he exclaimed one day in mock courtesy. “The Lion is called the King of the beasts, and he won that title by his bravery and courage. Do you think that should make one king?”

“Courage is a quality that every king and leader should have,” replied Bumper, cautiously.

“Greater than that of any of his subjects?”

Bumper hesitated, for he feared a trap; but when all the others looked at him, waiting upon his words, he felt that he had to assent.

“Yes, I suppose he should be the bravest of his people.”

“Then,” smiled Spotted Tail, “you must be the bravest of all the rabbits in the woods—braver than Old Blind Rabbit ever was, or any of the young ones here.”

“I shouldn’t like to claim that,” faltered Bumper, modestly.

“Then you shouldn’t be king. Isn’t that the law of the woods?”

“A leader should be as brave as any of his people,” Bumper answered, “not braver. Perhaps that would be impossible.”

“Well said,” muttered the Old Blind Rabbit. “There are many of my people who are brave as any king, and more could not be asked of their leader.”

Spotted Tail licked his lips and smiled. “We should make a test,” he added, “to see who are the brave ones among us. All who choose can enter it. Has any one a test to suggest?”

There was absolute silence. Spotted Tail knew no one would think of a suitable test on the spur of the moment. So he proposed one himself, one that he had had in mind for some days.

“Suppose, then,” he added, still smiling, “we cross, one by one, Swinging Bridge, and those who get over safely will be entitled to be called brave.”

There was a gasp of surprise and consternation. Swinging Bridge was a small tree that had fallen across Rocky Ford where the river cut deep through a narrow gorge. The tree seemed almost suspended in mid-air by the vines and bushes, and was very dangerous. Every wind swung it back and forth like a hammock strung between two trees.

No rabbit had ever dared to cross it. It was supposed to be an impossible feat. The tree was so small and slippery that it afforded small chance for an animal without claws to walk across it. It hung fifty feet from the river’s bed so that a fall from it meant almost sure death.

It was foolhardy to try it. Bobby Gray Squirrel could run across it easily, but that was because he had claws with which to cling to it. Sleepy the Opossum and Washer the Raccoon could likewise walk across the bridge without fear of falling. But for a rabbit, whose feet were not made to climb, it was a dangerous undertaking.

“Oh, no, not that!” exclaimed Fuzzy Wuzz, shuddering.

“Why not?” asked Spotted Tail. “It will be a wonderful record for any rabbit who can do it. What do you say, Bumper?”

“I’m willing if you are,” Bumper replied, feeling that he could not withdraw from the challenge.

“Then we will draw lots to see who goes first,” promptly added Spotted Tail, who had arranged the whole thing.

“That isn’t fair,” interrupted one of Bumper’s followers. “The challenger should go first.”

“Since when was drawing lots unfair?” queried Spotted Tail. “I appeal to your judgment, Old Blind Rabbit. Isn’t it fair?”

The old leader of the rabbits hesitated for a moment, but he had to admit that this form of selection had been common with his people as long as he could recollect.

So when he decided in favor of Spotted Tail, the work of choosing their order of going across the bridge began. There were ten who stepped forward to accept the challenge. The Old Blind Rabbit held the sticks as each one stepped up to choose. Bumper got the short one, either through chance or through some trick Spotted Tail had arranged. No one could say which it was, but a murmur of dissent went up at once.

“It wasn’t a fair drawing!” they cried. “Try it over again. Spotted Tail played a trick on Bumper.”

“No,” interrupted Bumper, “we’ll not draw lots again. I’ll cross Swinging Bridge first.”

This decision was accepted with applause, and the rabbits trooped through the woods to Swinging Bridge. Bumper’s first sight of it made him shiver. It was worse than he had imagined. The chasm was at least thirty feet across, and the butt end of the tree was not more than eight inches in diameter, while the smaller end seemed to dwindle away into a mere whip. In fact, the tree could never have remained in its position if it hadn’t been for the vines suspending it.

“I’ll begin on this end,” Bumper said, choosing the butt end of the tree. His quick eye had seen the only possible chance for crossing. Half way across, where the tree grew smaller rapidly, there was a crotch which offered a firm footing. Bumper decided to walk out to this, and then reach the other side in one tremendous hop. That would be crossing the bridge, for nothing in the terms had been said about the manner of going.

While the others held their breath, and Fuzzy Wuzz shook and trembled with fear, Bumper hopped on the tree, and began making his way slowly along. He dared not look below where the river rolled and tossed over the rocks. He kept his eyes on the crotch ahead.

He reached this without accident. Then paused. The rest of the way was too perilous for any rabbit to proceed. Spotted Tail smiled to himself. He knew that it would be the last of the white rabbit if he attempted it.

Bumper crouched low, fastened his hind feet firmly in the crotch, and then, to the surprise of all, leaped into the air in one tremendous spring that carried him clear across to the other side. His heart was beating at a lively rate, but when he realized that he had performed the difficult feat a little glow of triumph spread over his face.

“Wonderful! Good for Bumper!” were the cries from the other side that reached his ears.

“Now Spotted Tail, it’s your turn!” some one said.

But Spotted Tail was white and trembling. He had never expected to be called upon to attempt it. With the death of Bumper in the river below, they would call the test off. It would be suicidal for another to try it. But now all was changed. Bumper was safe on the other side, and they were calling on him to cross. He crouched in abject fear, and seemed ready to ask for mercy when Bumper spoke.

“No,” he said, “it isn’t safe. It’s a foolhardy thing to do. I forbid any one else trying it. You understand, Spotted Tail, I forbid it!”

Spotted Tail raised his head hopefully, and a cunning, cringing expression came into his eyes.

“The king must be obeyed,” he said.

Then boastfully, walking away: “But I could have crossed without jumping half the way. That was not included in the terms of the test.”

STORY VII
THE TEST OF WITS

Of course, Spotted Tail was glad that he had been relieved of making the terrible test of courage in crossing Swinging Bridge, but, at the same time, he was chagrined that Bumper had come out of the contest with greater honors than ever. It seemed as if in some way the white rabbit managed to make good by successfully crawling out of every corner in which Spotted Tail put him.

“It’s just luck—blind luck,” growled Spotted Tail to himself. And so it seemed to him, for he was unwilling to face the truth, and accept it. It is always easier to blame luck for our failures, and Spotted Rabbit was like a good many boys and girls in this respect.

Instead of feeling any gratitude to Bumper for saving him the humiliation of his life by forbidding any rabbit to undertake the crossing, Spotted Tail allowed his rancor to increase day by day until he was in a fine frame of mind. He wanted more than ever to “get even” with Bumper, as he expressed it.

Then one day when the opportunity seemed to come to him, he was prepared to take advantage of it. It was to be a test of wits, this time. Without his knowing it, this was the one ground on which Bumper was eager to be challenged. It is to be feared that Bumper had an inordinate conceit about his ability to get out of difficult places by using his wits.

So when Spotted Tail started in the usual way to work up to a challenge, Bumper readily encouraged him. “A good king is always a wise king, isn’t he, Bumper?” he asked.

“He couldn’t be a good king if he wasn’t wise,” was the smiling retort.

“Just so. I agree with you. But what is wisdom? Can you describe it?”

“Can you describe the sunlight, Spotted Tail? You see it every day, and you know it when you see it. But can you describe it?”

“I can describe it by saying that it is just the opposite of darkness,” Spotted Tail replied, a little at a loss for a good answer to this unexpected question.

“Then I can describe wisdom in the same way. It’s the opposite of ignorance.”

Spotted Tail frowned when the others laughed and clapped their paws at this retort.

“But what I meant,” continued the discomfitted rabbit, recovering his composure, “is the application of wisdom. How do we know a thing is wise until we’ve tried it?”

“How do we know a thing is hot or cold until we’ve burnt or frozen our paw? By experience, Spotted Tail, we know that it isn’t necessary to run into a fire and scorch ourselves every time we see one to find out whether it is hot.”

“Exactly, Bumper, but some things we don’t know by experience. Suppose you had never been in the water and didn’t know how to swim, but you’d seen other animals swim. Now, if you fell in the water, what would you do? Would the knowledge that you’d seen others swim save you?”

“Perhaps,” replied Bumper, hesitatingly. Then, smiling, he added: “But the first thing I’d do would be to look around for a raft. That would be safer than trying to learn to swim. Don’t you think that would be the wise thing to do?”

“Yes, if there was a raft handy. But suppose there was none in sight. What would you do then?”

Bumper stretched himself, and answered lazily: “I can’t say, Spotted Tail, until I was put to the test. But I think I’d use my wits or try to.”

They had been sunning themselves on a board some hunter had stretched across a bend in the river. Spotted Tail had lured Bumper to the far end of the board for his wicked purpose. The middle of the board rested on a stone, and sometimes the young rabbits used it as a see-saw. By running out to the ends two rabbits could make it jump up and down so that it splashed in the water and made a great commotion.

Spotted Tail was sitting next to Bumper on the far end which stretched over very deep water. He turned now to him, and asked:

“Can you swim, Bumper? Were you ever in the water over your head?”

“No,” Bumper answered truthfully, “but some day I must learn. I think I’ll begin to take lessons.”

“Well, to-day is as good as any day to begin,” replied Spotted Tail.

Before Bumper realized what he meant by this remark, he leaped high in the air, and landed on the other end of the spring-board with a thud. The result was that Bumper was shot straight up into the air nearly two feet right over the deepest part of the river. He turned a complete somersault in the air, and made a frantic struggle to reach the end of the board as he came down. But he missed it by a foot, and fell plump in the river.

He went down, down, down out of sight. It seemed an age before he came up again, wet, bedraggled and puffing. The fright caused by his sudden ducking threatened to make him panicky, and his first thought was to squeal for help and splash around like a child in a bathtub.

But Spotted Tail’s words aroused him. “Now, Bumper,” he called, “you’ve got a chance to use your wits. Let me see what you can do to get ashore.”

It was a cruel, cold-blooded thing to do, and the other rabbits who had seen the whole thing from the shore came scurrying to the rescue, shouting: “Shame! Shame on you, Spotted Tail!”

But, of course, this didn’t help Bumper any. The water was very deep where he had fallen in, and there wasn’t the sign of anything that could be used as a raft. Could he swim? Not much! By frantic efforts he could keep his head above water. Nearly every wild animal can do this even when a tiny baby. But that wouldn’t get him to the shore until he was exhausted.

But just when he was beginning to feel that he would drown his hind feet touched something. It was a big rock in the middle of the stream which could not be seen from the spring-board or the shore. Bumper found that by standing on his two hind feet on the rock, he could just keep his head and neck above the surface. This gave him sudden courage, and a thought. He stood stock still on the rock, and turned to the one who had thrown him in.

“It is much more dignified for a king to float upright, Spotted Tail,” he said, “than to swim. Can you stand in the water like this?”

Spotted Tail and the others were amazed by the sight of Bumper standing perfectly still in the deep water, with his head and neck just above the surface.

“Come now, Spotted Tail, you have challenged me to everything you could think of,” continued Bumper. “Now it is your turn to accept my challenge. Either show me that you can stand in the deep water, or desist from further attempts to humiliate me. You must do one or the other, or I shall hold your challenges in contempt hereafter.”

Of course, Spotted Tail knew he could never perform this miracle, and he was at a loss to understand how Bumper could do it. “Then,” continued Bumper when he showed no intention of coming in, “you are disgraced before all of your people.”

All the while Bumper had been watching for a way to get ashore. He had been feeling with his hind legs for other rocks in the deep river. To his joy he found one, and quickly stepped to it. There was a series of stepping-stones, which hunters used to cross the river when it was shallow. They were hidden from view now by the flood. Bumper made his way cautiously from one to the other until he reached shallow water, and then he hopped gracefully ashore, much to Spotted Tail’s chagrin.

STORY VIII
SPOTTED TAIL STIRS UP REVOLT

Spotted Tail was in disgrace. Not only had he wickedly thrown Bumper into the deep water in full view of all the others, but he had refused to accept the first challenge made to him. He knew that he could never live down both. One was enough to bring him into contempt, but the two together practically robbed him of all further influence among his people.