Part 10

When the old gentleman rabbit opened the window who do you suppose was outside? Why, a little white pigeon—one of Uncle Lucky’s pigeons, you know.

“I’ve got something to tell you,” she whispered, perching herself on the window sill.

“What is it?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, cocking up both his long ears and wiggling his nose sideways.

“I have five little pigeons in the barn,” she answered, and with a flutter of wings she flew back to her little birds.

No sooner had Uncle Lucky closed the window than some one knocked on the front door.

“Be careful,” whispered Mrs. Swallow from her tiny nest as Uncle Lucky hopped out on the front porch.

The tiny sparrow’s bright eyes had spied Old Man Weasel under the woodpile, but I guess the dear old gentleman rabbit didn’t hear her for, without looking about, he shook hands with the Old Brown Horse.

“How are all the folks?” asked Uncle Lucky kindly. “Anybody got the measles?”

“Nope, but the automobile has a flat tire,” answered the friendly old horse.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit. “You should worry!”

“I must get back before supper,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Maybe I’ll be hitched up to the buggy. I come in very handy when something breaks down.

“I used to pull the children In the buggy to the town, And over hill and thru the dale My feet went up and down.

As o’er the road I trotted off The children sang with joy, But that was in the Long Ago When I was but a boy.

It’s seldom now I take them out Or hear their merry, happy shout!”

“Don’t feel sad,” begged dear Uncle Lucky, “your master is kind and lets you feed on the meadow grass. You don’t have to pull a heavy cart like many an old horse.”

“That’s true,” replied the Old Brown Horse, a smile spreading over his face. “Maybe I’m a little lonely for the children. They were so bright and happy.”

But, oh, dear me! and oh, dear you! just then Old Man Weasel ran out from under the woodpile.

“Help, help!” shouted the old gentleman bunny, “help, help, give me a club!”

“I’ll look out for you,” answered the Old Brown Horse. Kicking out his left hind leg, he hit Old Man Weasel such a whack that the old sneak flew over the white picket fence like a baseball from the bat of Babe Ruth.

“That’s a home run for him,” laughed the Old Brown Horse, watching Old Man Weasel spinning over the treetop; “when he comes down he’ll land in the kitchen and surprise his wife.”

“Dearest me!” sighed poor frightened Uncle Lucky. “You did me a good turn.”

“Don’t mention it,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Glad to get a whack at that old thief. Maybe now he’ll stay home for a while.”

BUNNY TALE 21

PHOTOGRAPHER CRANE

“One, two, three, Turkey Lane, Is this Mr. Photographer Crane? Please come up the Forest Path And take my picture with a laugh,”

telephoned Little Jack Rabbit one morning, oh, so early, as Mr. Merry Sun was climbing the blue sky in his golden chariot.

“All right, I’ll be there in a minute or three,” replied the kind photographer bird and, picking up his camera, he started off through the Shady Forest. It was quite a long walk, for his picture parlor was in Bunnybridge, you know, just over the River Sippi, but by and by, not so very far, for his long legs traveled pretty fast over the ground, he reached the Tall Pine Tree in which Professor Jim Crow had his home.

“Hello, Photographer Crane,” cawed the black bird professor, “where are you going?”

“To take Little Jack Rabbit’s picture,” answered Photographer Crane, setting down his camera and wiping his beak with a red silk pocket handkerchief.

“Wait a minute, my little crow boy wants his taken.”

“Have no time,” answered the picture bird man.

“Oh, please take a photograph of my little crow boy,” begged Professor Jim Crow. “It won’t take you a minute—here he is now.”

“Oh, all right,” answered Photographer Crane, setting up his camera.

“Now be quiet, don’t you sneeze, Smile a little if you please! Smooth your feathers nice and trim, You’ll look like your father Jim,”

sang Photographer Crane in a sing-song voice from under the big black cloth, which he had pulled over his head as Blackie Crow stood very stiff and very still on a big limb of the Tall Pine Tree. Then with a squeeze of the little rubber bulb the picture was taken. “How many do you want?” he asked, folding up the camera.

“Maybe a dozen,” replied Professor Crow. “Send your bill with them.”

“I won’t forget that,” chuckled the Picture Bird as he hurried along. Pretty soon he came to the Big Brown Bear’s Cozy Cave.

“Stop! Wait! Hey there!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, “I want my picture taken.”

“Can’t wait,” answered the nervous crane, “I’m on my way to the Old Bramble Patch.”

“It won’t take you a minute,” answered the Big Brown Bear. “Open up your picture box and take my photo.”

“Oh, botheration!” exclaimed Photographer Crane, again setting up his camera as the Big Brown Bear brushed his hair and combed his trousers. I beg your pardon, I mean combed his hair and brushed his trousers. Then, sitting down on a wooden bench and lighting his pipe, he waited to be photographed. But, dear me! Photographer Crane was so dreadfully nervous and his legs so trembly that the camera wiggled and jiggled and I fear the picture will look like seven or eight bears dancing in front of the Cozy Cave.

“Dear me!” sighed the poor nervous photographer bird as he hurried away, “I’ll never reach the Old Bramble Patch, and I must not disappoint Little Jack Rabbit.” But no sooner had he finished speaking than out jumped Old Man Weasel. I wonder if he wants his photo taken. Maybe he just feels hungry and will eat poor Photographer Crane.

“S O S. Oh, please come quick And bring your big old hickory stick; There’s danger in the forest lane, Oh, come and help poor Mr. Crane,”

shouted Professor Jim Crow over his radio as that mean Weasel crept out from behind a tree.

Of course he did it so softly that Photographer Crane never heard him. He had been hopping along on his long thin legs, his camera over his back, feeling quite contented at having taken two pictures.

A good day’s work, and the day only half over. Pretty soon he would be at the Old Bramble Patch to make a beautiful photograph of Little Jack Rabbit.

“Maybe I’ll take it in colors,” he was thinking. “This little bunny boy rabbit is such a nice youngster.”

Poor Photographer Crane! He didn’t see Old Man Weasel only a few feet behind. No, indeed. If he had he might have dropped his big camera and maybe hurt the little bird which all good photographers ask us to watch until he squeezes the little rubber bulb.

But, no, sir! the good-hearted Photographer Crane never suspected for a moment that he was in danger. My, but it was mighty lucky that just then Professor Crow chanced to look down from his Tall Pine Tree House. Dear me! I can’t bear to think what would have happened pretty soon, and maybe mighty quick, to Photographer Crane if the good professor bird had looked the other way!

“Bless my gold stripes and twenty-five silver buttons!” exclaimed the brave Policeman Dog on hearing the radio call. Jumping up from his mahogany desk, in less time than I can take to tell it, he picked up his big hickory club and hurried to the Tall Pine Tree.

“Ha, ha!” chuckled the wicked Weasel to himself as he crept after poor Photographer Crane, “in just two minutes or three I’ll bite in two his long skinny left leg, ha, ha!”

“I’ll soon be at the Old Bramble Patch,” thought the kind camera picture bird, strutting along, first on one leg and then on the other. “I’ll make a beautiful picture of the pretty yellow canary swinging in her gold cage on the front porch, the shiny brass knob on the front door, Lady Love standing on the kitchen porch and Little Jack Rabbit feeding the pigeons.”

“Gracious me! I wish the Policeman Dog would hurry,” sighed the anxious but learned old crow bird, peering down from his Tall Pine Tree House. He could just see Old Man Weasel’s tail as he crept, oh, so softly after Mr. Crane.

“I won’t do a thing to that old Weasel,” laughed the Policeman Dog, as he ran swiftly through the forest.

“My, this camera is heavy,” sighed Photographer Crane, slipping it off his back. “I guess I’ll rest a minute or three,” and down he sat on an old log. He didn’t see Old Man Weasel lean around a tree. Oh, my, no!

But don’t worry, little reader, when “Pop goes the weasel!” as they used to sing in the country when I was a boy.

Yes, “Pop” went Old Man Weasel, and the next minute poor Photographer Crane found himself underneath that wicked furry animal.

“Help! Help!” shouted the long-legged camera man bird, giving a kick-out with his long left leg.

“Keep quiet,” snarled Old Man Weasel, trying his best to bite the poor struggling Crane’s bobbing-about head.

“Help! help!” shouted more loudly Photographer Crane. “Help! Help! Please help me, somebody!”

“I will,” replied the Policeman Dog, swinging his big hickory stick in the air. Down it came, whacko! on the wicked Weasel’s little red cap.

“Ouch! Ouch!” he whined, letting Photographer Crane go in a hurry.

The next minute the Policeman Dog slipped a pair of handcuffs over that old Weasel’s front paws.

“Dear, dear me!” sighed poor Photographer Crane, struggling to his feet, no easy matter, let me tell you. Like walking up to the top of the Woolworth Building when the elevators are on strike! At last, when he had straightened out his long, thin knobby legs, he turned to the kind Policeman Dog.

“Whenever you want your picture taken, come to me. I’ll take you in fourteen different poses for less than nothing. Why, I’ll tint them in pretty colors and maybe win a Little Jack Rabbit book for a prize.”

Then off he went to the Old Bramble Patch as the Policeman Dog trotted away with Old Man Weasel to the Jail House in Carrot City.

At last Photographer Crane reached the Old Bramble Patch. There stood Lady Love and Little Jack Rabbit at the front gate, dressed in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, ready and smiling for a picture.

“Now look pleasant,” said Photographer Crane, setting up his big camera on its three long slender yellow legs, though why he said it when both little bunnies were all smiles puzzles me, but I guess it must have been from force of habit.

“Now look as happy as you can, Don’t you move, my bunny man. Lady Love, smile ’neath your bonnet, A butterfly is sitting on it.”

“All over!” he said in a minute. That is, after he had squeezed a little rubber ball on the end of a rubber tube. “All over,” and he smiled at the two little bunnies.

“I hope my hair wasn’t all mussed,” sighed the little rabbit’s pretty mother.

“You’re the prettiest bunny I ever photographed,” said the picture-taker bird. “Your blue apron will look just lovely in the photo.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Lady Love, hopping into the kitchen to look at the lollypop stew.

Then, folding up his camera, Photographer Crane went home to his picture parlor, to which some day you boys and girls may go to have your photos taken.

BUNNY TALE 22

“EVERYBODY INN”

Down the Shady Forest Trail Twinkles here and there a tail, Tails of squirrels, gray and red, Tails of feathered folk o’erhead. If you’re patient I’ll not fail To tell another rabbit tale.

Listen now to my story, dear little boys and girls. Here we go, my typewriter and I, both of us together, to spin a tale of a dear little rabbit. By the way, I’ve forgotten where we left off a while ago. Was it about the Circus Elephant? Oh, dear, no! This is not the time for the circus. Was it about Little Jack Rabbit and Chippy Chipmunk? No? Well, it might have been about the old gentleman rabbit, for I hear a horn and here comes Uncle Lucky in his Luckymobile.

In hopped the little rabbit and away they went, honk! honk! honk!

For the Luckymobile could go like the wind And it always left everything far behind. Not even a deer on his swift flying feet With the Luckymobile had a chance to compete.

All of a sudden, just like that, or the crack of a pistol, a voice shouted:

“Stop! stop!”

“Now, who do you suppose that is?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, returning the salute by honking the horn two times and a half, Honk! Honk! Buzz!

“I’m sorry it’s you, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot,” said the Policeman Dog, with a nice kind of a growl, jumping up from behind a tree. “I’d much rather arrest Danny Fox. Yes, indeed.”

“Then why don’t you?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, with a laugh, handing the policeman dog a ten dollar lettuce leaf bill. Goodness me! you should have seen that Policeman Dog smile. He showed all his teeth and his spiked collar!

“All right, Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot. I’ll go down to the Three-in-One Cent Store to buy my wife a new washing board,” and off he ran to get this lovely present.

“Let’s be a little more careful,” advised Uncle Lucky, when once more on their way. “I have with me only three hundred ten dollar lettuce leaf bills and I don’t want to spend them all before reaching home.

“When I was young, oh, me, or you! Tra la loo, tra la loo! I used to dance ’most every night Until the sun was shining bright. But now I ride in my little Tin Liz Because of my bothery rheumatiz!”

Now while the two little bunnies were speeding home to Uncle Lucky’s little white house a great com-mo-tion was going on in the Shady Forest.

For almost two hours Grandmother Magpie had watched the big stranger tear up the trees. But as soon as he began to build a house, away she flew to spread the news.

“I have something to tell you!” cried the old lady Magpie, as pretty Lady Love opened the kitchen door in the Old Bramble Patch to see who was knocking.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she sighed, and maybe her voice sounded a little bit disappointed for she didn’t like Old Mother Mischief, not the least little bit.

“Oh, yes, I’ve some wonderful news,” answered the old lady Magpie, fluttering up on the window-sill. “What do you think? There’s a big elephant in the Shady Forest.”

“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Lady Love. “Maybe it’s Little Jack Rabbit’s friend, the Circus Elephant.”

“That’s just who it is,” agreed Grandmother Magpie, “for I saw him practicing all kinds of funny tricks. Why, he stood on his head and waved a little American flag with his tail. Then he sat on a big blue barrel and blew a bugle.”

“Gracious me!” laughed Lady Love, “I wish Little Jack Rabbit were home.”

“Where is he?” asked Grandmother Magpie, for she was a very curious person, let me tell you.

“Over at his Uncle Lucky’s,” answered Lady Love. “I’m going to call him up on the telephone,” and at once the dear little lady rabbit hopped into the hall and rang up, “One, two, three, Rabbitville, U. S. A.” In a few minutes Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot’s voice answered. “Helloa, who is it?” No sooner had Lady Love told him the news than he shut off the telephone and called to Little Jack Rabbit, who was out in the garden eating lettuce sandwiches.

“Little Jack Rabbit! Your Elephant circus friend is in the Shady Forest.” Then you should have seen that little rabbit hop into the house.

“Let’s ride over in the Luckymobile. I haven’t seen my elephant friend since the circus.”

Pretty soon as they passed the Big Brown Bear’s Cozy Cave they were surprised to see that big brown furry animal sitting outside in the sunshine having his picture taken.

“Please don’t wiggle, Please don’t sneeze If I tickle both your knees,”

they heard Photographer Crane say as he squeezed the little rubber ball.

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “How often does the Big Brown Bear have his photograph taken?”

“Oh, I know why,” cried the little rabbit. “I guess the one he took the other day didn’t turn out well.”

“Heigh diddle diddle, And heigh diddle di, The cat has been eating A little mouse pie,”

sang dear Uncle Lucky.

“Who’s singing?” all of a sudden, just like that, enquired a voice through the trees. But the two little rabbits made no answer, thinking it might be Old Man Weasel.

“Hush!” whispered Uncle Lucky. “Who do you suppose it is?”

“I don’t know,” answered the little rabbit, taking his pop-gun from his knapsack.

Again the same voice began to sing:

“I was always content when on pleasure bent, Heigh hoo and a bottle of pop. But no longer I’ll roam for I’ve built me a home, And here in the forest I’ll stop.”

“It’s my elephant friend,” laughed the little rabbit. “I know his voice.” Just then they came in sight of a big log house. At the front door on a three-legged stool sat the kind Elephant, smoking a big cigar.

Well, sir! You should have seen those two dear little rabbits hop out of the Luckymobile! Why, Uncle Lucky hopped out so quickly that his old wedding stovepipe hat fell off his head and rolled on top of a little ant hill. It took the poor little ant and her four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine uncles and cousins and sisters almost an hour to push it off, but Uncle Lucky was too busy talking to the Elephant to notice what was going on.

Well, by and by, when there was nothing more to talk over, except the folks at home and the new baby across the way, Little Jack Rabbit said;

“Come out for a ride in the Luckymobile, It’s such a long time since you went. We’ll sure bring you back to your little log shack. Do you like it as well as a tent?”

“I like it better in the winter,” answered the Elephant. “But I’ve had lots of fun at the circus! Do you remember one day last summer I shouted, ‘Give me a peanut!’”

“Of course I do,” answered the bunny boy.

“Well, don’t let’s talk of that now. We’ll go Luckymobiling.”

Locking the door of his log hut, he put the key in an empty bird’s nest and climbed into the Luckymobile. And as soon as Uncle Lucky had picked up his old wedding stovepipe hat and put on his goggles, away they went.

“Oh, isn’t it fine to be skimming along In the Luckymobile with a laugh and a song And maybe a whistle, and maybe a toot, As over the roadway we rapidly scoot,”

merrily sang the dear old gentleman rabbit.

“Gee Willie Kins!” exclaimed the Elephant. “Aren’t we going fast?”

“Not a bit!” answered Uncle Lucky, smiling as the Elephant held on to his big ears for fear they’d blow off of his head.

“Dear, dear!” he cried, “I can’t get my breath!” After which, of course, the old gentleman rabbit slowed down, not wishing to make his elephant friend too cross.

Well, by and by, after a while, they came to a little hotel. On the big sign-board that creaked above the front door when the wind blew, was written:

“Everybody Inn.”

“Good gracious meebus!” giggled the old gentleman rabbit, “if everybody’s in will there be room for us?” And he laughed so hard at his own joke that his old wedding stovepipe hat fell over one ear and he couldn’t hear what the Elephant said.

“Let’s get out and have an ice cream cone,” suggested Little Jack Rabbit. Just like every little boy and girl I know—crazy over ice cream cones.

“All right,” agreed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping out to tie the Luckymobile to the old hitching post in front of the inn. Then hopping up on the piazza, they all sat down at a little round green table and waited for some one to take their order.

Well, after a minute or maybe three a little white duck in a pink apron waddled out and asked:

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Ice cream cones for three,” answered Uncle Lucky, just like that. So back into the hotel waddled the little white duck, returning presently with a silver tray on which were three ice cream cones, three lady fingers and three little paper napkins with roses in the corner. But, oh, dear me! the Elephant ate so fast that he got a dreadful headache and had to lie down in the hammock. And, oh, dear me! again. The next minute the hammock broke down with a terrible bump and out ran the little white duck to see what all the noise was about.

“Mercy me!” she said. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“I’d feel a lot worse had I hurt any one as badly,” answered the Elephant, rubbing his left hind leg with his trunk and wiping his eyes with Uncle Lucky’s blue silk polkadot handkerchief, which the old gentleman rabbit had politely handed to him.

“Perhaps you’d better take me back to my little house in the Shady Forest,” sighed the Circus Elephant. So away they went to his little log hut.

But when he went to look for the front door key in the empty bird’s nest, it wasn’t there.

“What shall I do?” he asked, sitting down and resting his trunk on the front door-step. “How am I to get in?”

Just then who should come by but Grandmother Magpie. Now you know that magpies are very mischievous, picking up and carrying away all sorts of things. So as soon as Little Jack Rabbit saw Grandmother Mischief, he shouted:

“If you have taken the elephant’s key You’ll soon be sorry as sorry can be. For I’ll go tell Professor Crow, And then you’ll be more sorry, I know. For he’ll tell Mr. Owl and Mr. Mouse You’ve stolen the key to the elephant’s house.”

Well, sir! As soon as that mischievous old magpie heard that she looked in her little black vanity bag.

“Is this it?” she asked, holding up a big brass key.

“Let me try it,” answered the elephant, taking the key in the little finger on the end of his trunk and fitting it to the lock. But when he looked around Old Grandmother Magpie had flown away. Yes, sir, she hadn’t waited a minute. I guess she didn’t want him to point his little finger at her and say:

“You’re a thief, you’re a thief! Better hide behind a leaf Or take wing and fly away, So you won’t hear people say; ‘You will have to go to jail And wear a handcuff on your tail!’”

Well, after that, the two little rabbits said good-by to the Elephant and turned off for home.

As the Luckymobile spun along Uncle Lucky began to sing, for he was a very musical old rabbit and had a lovely tenor voice.

“If you’re not old enough to go To see a lovely movie show, You’re old enough I know to play That you’re a hero every day.”

By and by, after a while, the Luckymobile stopped at his little white house.

Oh, the little shady front porch Is quite the coolest spot, And in the hammock one may swing When it is piping hot.

The little sparrow in her nest Upon the topmost beam Is telling to her little ones A pretty fairy dream.

And while she sings so soft and low Dear Uncle Lucky down below Goes sound to sleep, and on the floor His book falls from his tired paw.

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit. “Did I go to sleep?”

“Cock-a-doodle-do!” laughed the Old Red Rooster, who was cutting the grass.

Rubbing his eyes, dear Uncle Lucky looked around for Little Jack Rabbit, but he couldn’t see him anywhere although he peeped in the croquet box and behind the big horse-chestnut tree.

You see, if his little rabbit nephew wasn’t near him all the time the old gentleman bunny felt mighty lonely.

Just then Little Jack Rabbit with two ice cream cones in his right front paw, hopped up the front walk. You should have seen Uncle Lucky smile. He smiled so hard that his old wedding stovepipe hat dropped off his head and his blue silk polkadot handkerchief bow twisted up under his left ear.

“Oh, that’s the nicest thing you could bring this hot day,” he exclaimed, after which he didn’t say a word until the ice cream cone was safely tucked under his pink waistcoat.

Pretty soon all the little Cousin Cottontails happened in. At once dear generous Uncle Lucky opened a big box of lollypops and they all had a lovely feast.