Chapter 4

When Bumper floated away from the mouth of the sewer on his raft, he felt quite jubilant, and a little proud of his achievement. He had escaped the bats successfully, and now he had found a way out of the sewer itself. He was so puffed up by these exploits that he wasn't a bit afraid of what might happen to him on the river.

"This is really much better than being cooped up in the old woman's backyard," he reflected. "Not even Jimsy or Wheedles ever dreamed of such adventures as I've had. My! I feel like a great traveler already."

But when the current of the river began to draw his raft away from the shore into the middle, his enthusiasm was not quite so great. The stream grew rougher, and little white caps appeared ahead. His raft began to bob up and down, and pretty soon a wave washed over it and wet Bumper's feet.

This made him very uncomfortable, for a rabbit doesn't like wet feet any more than a cat does. He tried to sit up on his hind legs and dry his front paws, but other waves washed over the raft and wet his haunches. He couldn't very well stand on his front paws, and dry his hind ones, so he had to endure the wet and cold.

The river passed through a beautiful field all aglow with flowers and green grass, but the shore was too far away for Bumper to swim to it. "I'll leave well enough alone," he said, "and stick to my raft."

Then he came to a woods through which the river flowed. It was swampy here, and twigs and tree trunks seemed to grow out of the water long distances from the shore.

"If I can find a tree fallen in the river, I'll hop on it and escape," Bumper reasoned.

He was so absorbed in watching for a chance to escape that he hardly noticed a black shadow hovering over him. Not until it approached very close did he duck his head and look up.

"Caw! Caw!"

It was a big, black crow. Now Bumper had never seen a crow. In fact, he had never seen any of the wild animals of the woods, for it must be remembered that he was born in the city. Of course, he had seen plenty of sparrows, for they live in the cities, and also sewer rats. A few bats had also flown over the old woman's backyard on warm nights hunting insects, and Bumper was more or less acquainted with them.

But a crow! He didn't know what it was. So when the loud, raucous cry assailed his ears, he squatted down on his raft, expecting every minute to be attacked by the black shadow above.

"Caw! Caw!" screamed the big bird.

"Mr. Caw! Mr. Caw!" cried Bumper, supposing that was the bird's name. "Good morning! How do you do?"

Now, the crow is very sensitive about his inability to sing. He used to think that cawing was singing until the birds all laughed at him. After that he kept by himself, and very rarely joined the other birds in the woods or fields.

Bumper's calling him by that name very naturally angered him. It was a slight, a slur upon his voice, and he resented it at once. It must be remembered also that the crow had never seen a white rabbit before, and Bumper's appearance floating on the plank had excited the bird's curiosity. White rabbits don't run wild in the woods, and Bumper was almost as much a mystery to the crow as the latter was to the former. All the rabbits Mr. Crow knew were gray or brown, with a white belly and tail, and none of them had pink eyes. So it was quite natural that the black bird should be curious and surprised at the sight of a pure white rabbit, with pink eyes, floating down the river on a raft.

"Caw! Caw!" screamed the crow, flapping his wings so that the wind made by them ruffled Bumper's hair.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Caw. I understand," replied Bumper, getting excited by the nearness of this big, black thing.

"How dare you make fun of me!" cried Mr. Crow, striking the tip of Bumper's ears with his wings. "I'll teach you to laugh at my voice."

With that he struck out with both wings, and nearly upset Bumper from his raft. Frightened by this exhibition of anger, Bumper's teeth chattered, and his voice shook.

"I wasn't making fun of your voice, Mr. Caw," he said. "I think it's a very sweet and pleasant voice. Please don't upset my raft."

The crow, a little mollified by this flattery, circled around the raft, and surveyed the scene below with eyes filled with curiosity.

"What are you, anyway?" he called down at last. "You look like Mr. Rabbit, but I never saw one so white before. What's your name? And what are you doing on that raft?"

"I'm Bumper, the White Rabbit, and--"

"Rabbits are never white," interrupted the crow.

"But I assure you I am."

"Then you're not a rabbit. You're something else."

Bumper smiled and tried to look pleased. "Would you be something else if you were white?" he asked.

Now this reference to an old fable of the crows touched a sensitive spot. There were white crows, or at least there were rumors of them, and every crow liked to believe the story was true. If one white crow, then why not more? Why shouldn't all crows be white?

"Did you ever see a white crow?" the bird asked.

"Crow! Crow!" stammered Bumper. "Is that your name? I'm sorry, Mr. Crow, I made a mistake. You see, I'm from the city, and crows don't live there."

"No, I should say not--unless the white ones do." He came nearer and showed excitement. "Answer me. Did you ever see a white crow? If all rabbits from the city are white, then maybe that's where the white crows come from."

Now Bumper was learning shrewdness, and he saw right away through the vanity of the bird that had him at his mercy. So, instead of answering directly, he pretended that he knew a great deal more than he did.

"I'm surprised, Mr. Crow," he said, "that you've never been in the city to see for yourself. You really mean to tell me you've never been in the city?"

"Why, no, it's not a place for crows."

"Maybe not for black ones, but white crows are perfectly safe there, the same as white rabbits. I never saw one hurt there."

"Don't men shoot them?"

"No. People don't shoot birds and animals in the city. They're not allowed to carry guns at all. You're really safer than out here in the country."

"But there's nothing to eat in the city--not for crows. Is there?"

"All the white crows I knew were well fed. And the sparrows get plenty. People feed them sometimes in the park. Why, there are squirrels that have all the nuts they can eat, and they don't have to hunt for them."

"White squirrels?" interrupted Mr. Crow, eagerly.

"Did you ever see a white squirrel, Mr. Crow?" asked Bumper, instead of answering this question.

"No, I never did."

"Then," sighing, "I'm afraid there are none."

Mr. Crow wasn't so much interested in white squirrels as in white crows, and he dismissed the matter from his mind. After a pause, he added: "I believe I'll take a trip to the city, if there's no danger. I'd like to visit some of the white crows. It may be if I stay with them in the city, I'll turn white, too."

Bumper didn't want to deceive him, but he was still afraid of him. Instead of answering directly, he asked: "Before you go, Mr. Crow, can't you help me to get ashore? I'm very tired of this raft. You make so much wind with your beautiful wings, I'm sure you could blow me inshore with them."

"Yes, I suppose I could," was the reply. "Well, since you were kind enough to tell me about my relatives in the city, I'll help you."

He began beating his wings violently, and the wind from them nearly blew Bumper off the raft, but the board floated closer and closer to the shore until the rabbit with a hop landed on it, and bade the crow good-bye.

STORY XI

BUMPER MEETS A FOX

When the White Rabbit hopped ashore from his raft, he was so happy that he gave the board a kick with his two hind legs, and sent it spinning far out into the stream. He supposed that he was all alone, and no one had seen him land, but he was surprised when a voice near him cried out:

"Look out! What are you trying to do?"

There was a flop in the water, and when Bumper turned he saw a queer looking fish swimming toward the shore, using his hind legs instead of fins to propel him along. He had big, staring eyes, and a green head, with white under his throat.

"That's what I call a mean trick!" the swimmer added, hopping upon a lily-pad, for it was Mr. Bull-Frog that Bumper had mistaken for a queer fish. "You upset me from that leaf and disturbed my sleep. If I hadn't been an excellent swimmer I should have been dead by this time."

"What did I do?" asked Bumper, in surprise.

"What did you do?" was the indignant retort. "What but push that board against my lily-pad and knock me in the water! I call that doing a good deal."

Bumper was inclined to laugh at the angry Bull-Frog, who was swelling up to twice his usual size and puffing out his cheeks; but he refrained from this when he realized that he had unintentionally disturbed the frog's noonday siesta. So he answered in a friendly way, hoping to pacify his feelings.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Frog, but I didn't see you on the lily-pad. The fact is, your head is exactly the color of the lily-pad, and no one could distinguish it a few feet away. What a lovely green it is, too--your head, I mean."

Mr. Bull-Frog was apparently as susceptible to flattery as Mr. Crow, and his ruffled feelings began to subside. "Yes, I fancy it is a pretty green," he said. "I've always heard that the lily was the prettiest of flowers, and that's why my family is attracted by it. Would you like to sun yourself on one of these pads? They're very soft and cool."

"No, thank you," laughed Bumper, "I'm afraid I'd get my feet wet. Besides, I'm desperately hungry. If you don't mind I'll eat some of these delicious leaves and grasses."

"Go ahead. I don't mind. But I can't see what you like about them to eat."

"Neither can I see why a frog likes flies and insects. Ugh! The thought of eating them makes me sick."

"Well," remarked Mr. Frog, "I suppose every one to his taste. As for me, I prefer flies and worms, and--"

He stopped suddenly, and looked through the low brush into the woods back of the river front. Bumper was so busy filling his little stomach with green, succulent things that he scarcely noticed the other's hesitation.

"--and," continued Mr. Frog, after a pause, "some animals prefer eating rats, lizards, toads, and rabbits."

"Rabbits!" exclaimed Bumper. "Who eats rabbits?"

"Mr. Fox for one," answered the Frog, "and if my eyes don't deceive me there's one in the bushes waiting to eat you. If you'll excuse me, I'll take a dive. I've known Mr. Fox to eat frogs when he was very hungry."

There was a flop in the water, and the bullfrog disappeared from sight. Bumper reared up on his hind legs and looked around him. He had never seen a fox, but his mother had often told him tales about their cruelty. They were forever hunting little rabbits to eat, and they were as sly and cunning as they were barbarous.

Bumper's quick eyes caught sight of Mr. Fox hiding in the bushes, and, for a moment, his heart beat a loud tattoo. What was he to do? Jump back in the river and try to swim across to the opposite shore, or face the fox and try to escape from him by running?

The woods were very thick all along the river's bank, and there were many good hiding-places; but Mr. Fox stood ready to head him off either way he ran. Bumper was in a quandary just what to do.

"Good morning, Mr. Fox!" he called, hoping to gain time by being polite and friendly.

Mr. Fox sniffed the air, raising his nose several inches above his head. He seemed quite uncertain about something, but his nose apparently satisfied him.

"Good morning," he answered finally, grinning. "But what a joke you played on me, Mr. Rabbit. I couldn't believe my own eyes. What's happened to you?"

"Why, nothing," stammered Bumper, mystified. "Why do you ask such a question."

"Why? Because you're all white. I thought first you were a ghost. And your eyes--they're pink. Whoever heard of a white rabbit with pink eyes?"

Bumper was quick to see the cause of the fox's surprise. Like the crow, he had never seen a white rabbit before, and he suddenly gained confidence by this knowledge.

"How do you know I'm not a ghost?" he asked, smiling.

"How do I know? Ha! Ha! That's a good one! But I'll tell you how I know. I smell you. No ghost could have that delicious rabbit smell that fills my nose every time the wind blows toward me."

Bumper, for the lack of any words to say, laughed long and hard at this remark. Then he controlled himself, and added: "I wouldn't trust my nose, Mr. Fox. A rabbit's ghost might smell just as sweet and delicious as a real one."

"I don't believe it," grinned Mr. Fox. "Anyway, I'm going to find out. If you're a ghost, why, it will be easy enough for you to disappear."

"Yes, of course, but I should hate to disappoint you. Now, do you know where rabbits go when they die?"

"Yes, in my stomach."

Mr. Fox laughed long and loud at this cruel joke, and Bumper winced; but he was playing for time to think of a plan to escape. Evidently Mr. Fox was not to be outwitted by flattery, and he determined upon another ruse.

There was a fallen tree near him, but to reach it he would have to advance a few feet straight toward the fox. The heart of the tree was rotten and hollow, and to escape in this was Bumper's design. But how to distract Mr. Fox's attention until he could reach it was the question.

"Oh, Mr. Fox," he said suddenly, "I met Mr. Crow on the river, and he asked me about the white crows in the city. When I told him, he flew away to the city to see if living there would turn him white. That's a joke on Mr. Crow all right, isn't it?"

"Yes--but are there white crows in the city?"

"There are white rabbits. Then why not white crows, and white foxes?"

"White foxes?"

"Yes, why not? Didn't you ever see one?"

"No, but I've heard of them, it seems to me, but they live way up north, don't they?"

"If you want to see one now," continued Bumper, "look at the sun for ten seconds, and sneeze twice, and then--"

"What then?"

"Do as I tell you, and then I'll tell you the rest."

Mr. Fox, after all, was a little vain, or at least very curious, and this strange proposition interested him. He raised his head, and looked straight into the blinding sun.

"Now count--one, two, three, four, and sneeze," added Bumper.

No fox can look hard at the sun long without sneezing, and after counting six this one nearly sneezed his head off. That was what Bumper was waiting for. He made a dive for the hollow tree, and got inside of it. When Mr. Fox reached the log, and found the hole too small for him, he was quite mad, and said: "I'll make you pay for that trick some day, Mr. Rabbit."

STORY XII

BUMPER ADMIRED BY THE BIRDS

It isn't good for us to be too smart. It sometimes makes us vain, and then one day we overdo it. Bumper had some excuse for playing the trick on Mr. Crow and Mr. Fox, for his life depended upon it; but his success was giving him a little swelled head. He began to feel that he could get out of any danger by using his wits.

"It takes a city rabbit to find a way out of difficulty," he reflected, as he lay snugly in the hollow trunk of the tree. "These country animals are dull-witted. I do hope my cousins of the woods are not so stupid. Perhaps they are, and that's why people say rabbits are cunning but very stupid."

This sort of reasoning was the very thing that got him in trouble, and nearly caused his death. He was so sure that he had outwitted Mr. Fox, he decided after a while to leave the hollow trunk, and eat some of the green leaves and branches growing around outside.

But he knew less about the cunning and patience of the fox than he thought. Instead of trotting off in the woods, chagrined and disgusted by his defeat, the fox was lying low ready to pounce on the white rabbit the moment he showed himself. He was so still that Bumper couldn't hear the rustle of a leaf or the snap of a twig.

"I think I'll go out now," Bumper said finally. "I'm dreadfully hungry."

Instead of poking his head out cautiously to investigate, he walked straight from the hollow trunk into the very jaws of the fox. There was a sharp click of teeth, and Bumper felt a terrible pain in one of his long ears. He must have leaped five feet in the air, and another five feet sideways. The fox had missed his neck by an inch, but to make up for this mistake, he now pursued the rabbit, leaping nearly as high in the air to catch him as Bumper.

Terrified by the attack, and not knowing what to do, the white rabbit jumped this way and that, clearing high bushes and landing in dense thickets that tore his fur and hurt him terribly. But the fox followed him, paying no attention to the briers and thorns.

It was a narrow escape. For a moment Bumper thought his time had come. He couldn't get back to the hollow tree trunk, and there was no other hiding-place near that the fox couldn't follow him in.

It certainly would have gone hard with him, and the rest of his adventures could never have been told, if a couple of blue jays hadn't built a nest in a tree directly over him. The commotion in the bushes startled the birds, and with loud, shrill cries they darted down to see what was doing. The sight of the fox angered them. Foxes robbed birds' nests whenever they got a chance, and the blue jays knew this. Therefore, a fox in the neighborhood of their home was not to be tolerated.

They flew down like two blue streaks and landed their sharp bills on the head and face of Mr. Fox. One stroke came so near to one of his eyes that he dodged and ducked, and stopped pursuing Bumper long enough to snap at the birds.

But the blue jays were prepared for this, and they kept well beyond his reach. As soon as he turned from them to the rabbit again they flew back to the attack. They punished him unmercifully, pecking at him until he was so angry that he could hardly see straight.

Meanwhile, of course, Bumper was taking advantage of this interruption. He was running through the underbrush as fast as he could until he was far ahead. Right and left he searched for a hole or any kind of an opening he could crawl in. And there, just ahead of him, appeared what he was looking for! This time it was the hollow branch of a giant tree hanging down, with one end still attached to the trunk.

Bumper was in the hollow branch like a flash. Mr. Fox reached it just a moment too late, and to vent his anger at losing the rabbit the second time he clawed and snapped at the branch as if he would rip it asunder. But the limb, with a decayed heart, had a stout shell, and the fox soon gave it up in disgust.

Now, the hollow branch, as you know, had one end on the ground, and the other still attached to the trunk where the wind had broken it off. So Bumper found his hole slanting upward, and as he crawled through to the other end he was actually climbing a tree. Perhaps you have heard that rabbits can't climb trees, but Bumper did in this instance.

When he reached the upper end, he found himself ten feet from the ground, with Mr. Fox below and unable to reach him. It was such an unusual sight to see a rabbit up a tree that the fox was more puzzled than ever. "Could white rabbits climb trees?" he asked himself.

Between his discouragement at being twice outwitted, and his amazement at finding a white rabbit with pink eyes that could climb a tree, Mr. Fox finally dropped his tail between his legs and trotted away. Bumper watched him go, and sighed with relief. The blue jays were equally relieved in mind, and once more returned to their home to guard it against invasion.

When Bumper stuck his head out of the upper end of the big tree branch, he noticed that he was up among the birds which had been singing a lively concert until he interrupted them. There were birds which Bumper had never seen before, some with startling plumage, and others with voices that sounded like flutes.

They did not renew their singing, but perked their heads sideways and watched this strange thing popping out of the hollow limb. Finally one of them, Mrs. Oriole, clad in a suit of gold, streaked with black and gray, spoke.

"It's Mr. Rabbit's ghost, I do believe. Mr. Fox must have caught him after all."

"If it's a ghost, I'd like to have some of his white fur for my nest," remarked Rusty the Blackbird. "I think I'll steal some."

"He's a pretty lively ghost," warned Piney the Purple Finch. "I wouldn't venture too near."

Bumper blinked his pink eyes at them, and smiled.

"I'm not a ghost yet," he said. "I'm quite alive and well, but very hungry. If you don't mind I'll eat a few of these delicious green leaves."

The birds watched him in silence. They were as curious and puzzled as the Crow had been. Finally, Mr. Pine Grosbeak plucked up courage to approach nearer.

"If you're really alive," he said, "let me pluck some of those beautiful white hairs as souvenirs. I never saw such lovely fur before."

"You can have one hair," laughed Bumper, "just to prove to you that I'm a real live rabbit."

Mr. Pine Grosbeak took him at his word, and plucked a hair from his back. It made Bumper wince.

"Surely you'll give me one, too, for my nest," added Piney the Purple Finch, and without waiting for consent he plucked two. Rusty the Blackbird came swooping down next. "I need some of your beautiful white fur to show my little ones," he said. "I'll take three."

The other birds expressed their admiration, and then begged a few hairs, too. There was Mrs. Crested Flycatcher, and Mrs. Phoebe Bird, and little Towhee the Chewink. The process of extracting a few hairs from his back caused Bumper exquisite pain, but he wanted to be obliging, especially as the birds all admired and flattered him.

But when Mr. Woodpecker, who had been rapping on the dead trees of the woods, appeared, Bumper decided it was time for him to call a halt. "That's all I can spare," he said, and darted back into the hollow branch.

He was glad to make friends with the birds, but he didn't want to be robbed of all the clothes he had.

STORY XIII

BUMPER NEEDS A DOCTOR

It was necessary for Bumper to show a certain amount of firmness with his newly-made friends, and when he finally emerged from the hollow branch again he made a little speech to the birds.

"If you don't mind, dear friends," he said, "I must ask you to stop plucking me any more. I really can't afford to lose my fur. It's all the protection I have from the rain, and when winter comes I'll need it to keep me warm."

"But a few hairs to line my nest with won't hurt you," pleaded Mrs. Phoebe Bird.

"No," replied Bumper firmly, "if I let you have some I must do the same to all the others, and I don't want to offend Towhee the Chewink or Mr. Crested Flycatcher or any of the others. I want to be friends with all of you."

The justice of this was recognized by all the birds, and they decided not to press the question; but they were voluble with their expressions of admiration.

"I never saw such beautiful pink eyes before," remarked Piney the Purple Finch.

"Nor such snow-white fur," added Mr. Pine Grosbeak.

"I never knew there was such a thing as a white rabbit in the world," said Rusty the Blackbird.

Bumper could not feel other than puffed up by such remarks, but he tried to hide it from his new friends.

"Are all the rabbits in the woods brown or gray, then?" he asked. "I should like to see them. Do they live around here?"

"Yes," replied the Purple Finch, "but they're very much frightened and keep to their burrows since Mr. Fox came here to live."

"I should like to find them," sighed Bumper. "The fact is, I'm lonesome, and a little bit homesick. I'm not used to the woods, and I should dearly like to find some of my brown cousins so they could teach me things."

"I shouldn't think you needed much teaching," laughed the Red-Headed Woodpecker, tapping the limb with his powerful bill. "Any rabbit that can escape from Mr. Fox and climb a tree as you did must know a great deal."