Part 3

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.

But instead of accepting his disgrace in a contrite spirit, he became moody and sullen. When the others, including Fuzzy Wuzz, avoided him, and passed him in silence, he gnashed his teeth in a fine rage.

Then he very naturally laid all the blame to Bumper, excusing himself from any guilt. This did not improve his manners any, and finally, satisfied that he could get no sympathy in his home burrow, he decided to seek revenge outside.

He would spread the tale among all his people in the woods that the white rabbit was a fraud, and that it was his intention to make them all submit to his rule. This would naturally cause general anger, and perhaps stir up a revolt. The coming of Bumper in the woods had not reached far. Rumors spread slowly unless taken up by the birds, and Bumper had made no attempt to interest them in his cause. He was too busy learning the ways of the woods and the duties of a king and leader.

Spotted Tail decided to get ahead of him and spread the news first, distorting it to suit his purpose. He appealed to Rusty the Blackbird first. “Rusty, you’ve always been a friend of mine,” he said, meeting him one day. “Now, will you do me a great favor?”

“Tell me what it is first, Spotted Tail,” was the reply.

“It is this, Rusty. Bumper the White Rabbit has come into the woods from somewhere, and proclaimed himself king of all the rabbits. He is a cruel king, and intends to wage warfare upon all the burrows that do not submit to his rule. I want you to spread the news all over the woods, and warn all leaders of burrows to rise in revolt.”

Rusty looked at the speaker, and flirted his wings. “No, no, Spotted Tail,” he replied. “I’m no carrier of evil messages. Besides, I’ve met Bumper the White Rabbit, and I liked him. He didn’t seem to me cruel or a bad sort of fellow.”

Spotted Tail appealed next to Mr. Woodpecker, who listened to his story in silence, and then tapped the trunk of a tree with his long, hard bill. “No, no, no!” he said, keeping time with his taps. “I don’t believe your story, Spotted Tail. Bumper’s not that kind. Good-bye.”

Spotted Tail looked disappointed. He was very sore and grouchy. It seemed as if the birds as well as the rabbits were all against him. Why did they all like Bumper the White Rabbit so much?

He met Towhee the Chewink next, and approached her with a smile and friendly greeting, but when he had stated his grievance, and made his request, modest little Towhee laughed in his face.

“I’ve got better business than spreading such news,” she replied. “You’ll have to find another messenger.”

In turn Spotted Tail approached Piney the Purple Finch, Mrs. Phœbe Bird and Mr. Crested Flycatcher, and received from each one the same reply. None of them would undertake the work of stirring up a revolt against Bumper.

He was in despair, and was bemoaning his luck when suddenly a voice startled him. “What’s the matter, Spotted Tail? You look black enough to obscure the sun.”

It was Shrike the Butcher Bird, whose very name made him dreaded and hated. Shrike had the unpleasant habit of catching insects, lizards, frogs, and sometimes small birds, and sticking them on thorns until he or his mate was ready to eat them. This disgusting and cruel habit made him an outcast among the birds, and very few would have anything to do with him. Naturally, it soured his disposition, and made him irritable and unfriendly.

Spotted Tail looked up and a gleam of hope entered his eyes. Why not ask the Shrike to spread the message that would stir up trouble? By so doing he would accomplish two things. He would get even with the birds who had refused to listen to his plea, and accomplish the downfall of Bumper.

“I have enough trouble to make me look blue,” Spotted Tail replied. “Even the brightness of the sun doesn’t make me feel happy.”

“It must be trouble indeed, then,” laughed the Shrike, “for it’s a beautiful day, and everybody else feels happy. What is it?”

“Alack! And alas!” sighed the rabbit. “I’m afraid you won’t sympathize with me any more than Mr. Woodpecker or Rusty the Blackbird or any of the others. I have told my tale to them, and they only laught at me.”

A wicked gleam flashed from the eyes of Shrike the Butcher Bird. “Rusty and Mr. Woodpecker are self-conceited birds, and what they think don’t amount to much. Little I’d care what they said or did.”

“But they won’t carry my message,” added Spotted Tail. “And if no one will do it how can I save the rabbits of the woods from the terrible thing that is coming to them?”

“What is this terrible thing?” queried the Shrike, growing interested.

“It’s about Bumper the White Rabbit,” continued the dejected rabbit, sighing heavily. “He has come into the woods to rule over all my people, and he is a cruel, selfish king. He intends to make all of us his slaves. He won’t listen to reason, but says he’s appointed to rule, and any one who disputes his right he will drive from the woods.”

The Shrike smiled. “Why don’t you drive him from the woods?” he asked. “I never knew you to be afraid of anything. I’d quickly put an end to his rule.”

“Quite right, Mr. Shrike. I would do it if it was only Bumper I had to fight. But he has come into our burrow, and by tricks and strange ways won over Old Blind Rabbit, Fuzzy Wuzz, Goggle Eyes, and all the others. They’re going to help him to rule in the woods.”

“Ah! Hum!” mused the Shrike. “So that’s the trouble! You’re the only good rabbit in the burrow?”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,” protested Spotted Tail. “I’m no better than the others, but he couldn’t deceive me. I saw through his tricks, and because I opposed him I’m in disfavor.”

“And what is this message you want me to carry to the rest of the rabbits in the woods?”

“I wish to put them on their guard so Bumper cannot deceive them. If they would rise in their might they could overwhelm him even if all my family backed him up. If a revolt isn’t begun right away, he will win them by degrees, and then it will be too late.”

“And Rusty and Mr. Woodpecker refused to carry the message?” queried the Shrike.

“Yes,” sighed Spotted Tail. “I don’t believe they like me. I’ve never been very friendly with the birds.”

Shrike the Butcher Bird hesitated for a moment to impale a worm on a thorn for future use, and then said:

“All right, Spotted Tail. I’ll carry the message to every rabbit burrow in the woods.”

“Oh, Shrike, you’re so kind!” exclaimed Spotted Tail; but the bird interrupted him with a harsh laugh.

“It isn’t because I like you, Spotted Tail,” he said, “that I’m doing this, but just to spite the other birds. I’ll punish them for scorning and disliking me. That’s why I do it. Good-bye! I’ll begin spreading the news right away.”

STORY IX THE WORK OF SHRIKE THE BUTCHER BIRD

Shrike the Butcher Bird was as good as his word. He was a vindictive bird, and it actually gave him pleasure in spreading Spotted Tail’s message because all the other birds had refused. First he went to White Tail at the far end of the woods, for he knew that White Tail was a big rabbit who, at one time, had had trouble with the Old Blind Rabbit.

“Oh, White Tail,” called the Shrike, “here is news for you! Bumper the White Rabbit has been proclaimed king of the woods by Old Blind Rabbit, and he intends to make all of you his slaves.”

White Tail reared himself on his hind legs, and clicked his teeth. “If you’d come with good news, Shrike, I wouldn’t have believed you; but as the carrier of bad news I think there must be something in it. Who sent you?”

“Spotted Tail.”

“Ah! Spotted Tail! I never did like him, but I never knew him to spread false news. If Bumper comes to interfere with my family, he will—Well,” leering, “I will tell him what I think of him. Good-day, Shrike, and much obliged for your trouble.”

Next, Shrike the Butcher Bird interviewed Brindley the Lame, so named because of a limp he had from infancy. Brindley was a good-natured rabbit, and ruled over his burrow with kindness, and was loved wherever he went.

“Ah, Brindley!” cried Shrike, when he met him in front of his burrow sunning himself. “You look well to-day, and as fat as butter. Too bad to spoil your rest with bad news.”

“Bad news never spoil my rest,” was the grinning reply. “I always sleep over it, and then when I wake up I find it isn’t so bad as it seemed.”

“Well, you’ll think differently when I tell you this. All the rabbits in the woods are rising in revolt against Bumper the White Rabbit that has come here to rule over them as king.”

“Indeed! Who are all the rabbits you speak of?”

“Spotted Tail, White Tail, and many others.”

“Ah! Um!” sighed Brindley. “Then Bumper’d better look out. I wouldn’t want to be wearing his crown.”

“But aren’t you going to join the revolt?” asked the Shrike. “Or are you so good-natured you’d submit to any tyrant who came along?”

“I’m never so good-natured as when I’m thinking seriously, Shrike,” was the retort. “Now, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll sleep over it, and then I won’t do anything hasty.”

There was Crooked Ears, a big rabbit who ruled over a family of twenty in a burrow buried deep under the cliff; Pink Nose, whose family was noted for the remarkably pinkish tinge that decorated the tips of their noses; and Rolly Polly, who was so round and fat that he could roll down a hill faster than he could run. They lived in different parts of the woods, and it took all the morning for the Shrike to find them and spread the news.

They accepted the tale with different degrees of surprise and distrust. Rolly Polly was too fat and pleasant to let it worry him much, and Pink Nose was more interested in what Bumper looked like than his mission in the woods. When the Shrike explained that he was a pure white rabbit, with pink eyes, Pink Nose eagerly asked:

“What’s the color of his nose?”

Knowing his fondness for pink-nosed rabbits, and fearing that he might claim kinship with Bumper if he said he had a pink nose, Shrike purposely stretched the truth.

“It is all white, the same as his fur—everything white except his pink eyes.”

Pink Nose looked disappointed. “I wish he had a pink nose,” he said sadly. “Then I’d know he was related to me.”

“Pink! Oh! Ho!” laughed the Shrike. “He hates pink-nosed rabbits.”

“Who told you that?” snapped Pink Nose.

“Spotted Tail!” he lied without blinking.

Pink Nose’s eyes turned a dark green, and the Shrike flew away, knowing that he had planted the seeds of discord in the mind of a perfectly good-natured rabbit.

Crooked Ears was a big surly rabbit, whose disposition had been spoilt when very young by an accident which had twisted his ears so they looked more like pretzels than anything else. The Shrike was quick to detect Crooked Ears’ weak point. He was forever trying to hide his crooked ears, and he lay stretched out in the sun with his paws drawn up over them as if ashamed to have any one see them.

The Shrike told him the news, but Crooked Ears said peevishly: “Oh, go away! Don’t disturb me now. I’m very sleepy.”

The Shrike whistled and fluttered his tail feathers in disdain. “All right, Crooked Ears,” he added. “I thought you’d like to know of the revolt, and of Bumper’s threat.”

“What was his threat?” asked Crooked Ears, sleepily.

“That he’d bite and twist the ears of every rabbit that opposed him until they all looked like yours.”

“He said that!” growled Crooked Ears, rising. “He made fun of my ears!”

“Made fun of them! Oh! Ho! What a joke! Listen, Crooked Ears, and I’ll tell you what he said about them.”

Crooked Ears seemed to be all ears now, for his anger was aroused. “He said,” continued the Shrike, “that all rabbits with crooked ears should be run from the woods. They were not fit to live with rabbits that had good, straight ears. Does that interest you?”

“I don’t believe you!” snapped Crooked Ears, but the Shrike only laughed shrilly, and flew away to find another burrow. He knew that he had angered Crooked Ears and poisoned his mind against Bumper.

All the day he flew from burrow to burrow, spreading the evil news, until by night every rabbit in the woods knew of Bumper’s coming, and believed that he was going to declare himself king and make every one of his people a slave. There was a pow-wow that night in every burrow, and the talk of what to do ran high. Some were angry and indignant; others more amused than angry, and a few so belligerent that they wanted to set out on the war path at once.

When the Shrike returned to Spotted Tail, he gleefully told all that he had done, and seemed greatly amused by the latter’s joy. Spotted Tail thanked him over and over again until the Shrike’s amusement was uncontrollable. He laughed and whistled as if it were a very great joke. Then, cocking his head sideways, he added:

“You needn’t thank me, Spotted Tail, for I didn’t do it to please you. It was just to spite the other birds.”

“Just the same you have done me a great favor, and I’m grateful for it,” was the answer.

“Favor! Favor, you call it! Ha! Ha! Ha! Wait and see, Spotted Tail. My mission isn’t done yet.”

“You haven’t told all the rabbits?”

“Yes, and now I’m going to tell all the animals—Buster the Bear, Mr. Fox, Billy the Mink, Washer the Raccoon, and all the others. There’ll be a right merry time when they see you fighting among yourselves. I think Mr. Fox and Buster may take a hand in it. What a chance they’ll have for a good meal!”

And still laughing shrilly, he flew away, leaving Spotted Tail in a very unpleasant frame of mind. Suppose the other animals should take advantage of the revolt to pounce upon the rabbits. How much innocent blood would be spilled because of his trickery!

STORY X RUSTY WARNS BUMPER

Of course, Bumper knew nothing about the revolt that Spotted Tail had stirred up in the woods against him. After all, he felt a little sympathy for Spotted Tail when all the others began to ignore him and give him the cold shoulder. But really there was nothing he could do, for Spotted Tail had brought the trouble all on himself because of his envy and spite.

“Being a king isn’t all lettuce and carrots,” sighed Bumper. “I’m not sure but I’d rather be just Fuzzy Wuzz, who smiles and laughs all day, or even Goggle Eyes, who eats altogether too much for himself, but seems to enjoy it.”

“Then there’s so much a king has to know,” he added a moment later. “I’m learning all the time new things, but what I don’t know yet frightens me. I wish sometimes I could take a vacation, and just go off and forget everything. I wonder why kings don’t have vacations.”