Part 13

At once the Farmer’s Boy forgot all about the hollow stump. Lifting his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim, but before he could pull the trigger a big drop of water spattered in his eye and he dropped the gun to take out his pocket handkerchief. Wait a minute, please, I’ve made a mistake. I meant to say he dropped his gun to brush the water from his eye with his coat sleeve.

“Now’s your chance!” shouted Busy Beaver.

Of course the Farmer’s Boy didn’t understand this warning, but the little rabbit did. Peeking out of the hollow stump for just a minute, he went hipperty hop, clipperty clip, lipperty lip down the Shady Forest Trail, past the wooded hillside where beneath a pile of rocks Danny Fox had his den.

“Now’s my chance,” thought Danny Fox, and out he jumped from his rocky bungalow.

“Dear, oh, dear me! Now what shall I do? I’m a goner, I know it!” cried the poor little bunny boy rabbit. “Yes, I’m a goner as sure as sunshine follows rain.”

“Stop whispering to yourself!” snarled the wicked fox. “I’ve a good mind to eat you right now before the Policeman Dog happens by with his big hickory stick.”

“Please do—I mean, please don’t! Oh, dear, oh, dear, I don’t know what I mean!” cried the poor frightened little bunny, his pink nose twinkling like a star on a frosty night.

“Gr-r-r!” snarled the old fox, creeping closer and closer till his hot breath burned the shivering little rabbit’s whiskers. “I’m going to eat you now. Make no mistake about it. You have given me the slip once too often.”

“No, you’re not!” shouted a friendly voice and from behind a clump of trees out ran the Old Brown Horse. Turning quickly around, he let fly with his two hind feet, sending Danny Fox through the air like a hairy four-footed two-eared football.

“Never come back!” cried the Old Brown Horse, leaning over to see if the little rabbit was all right. Of course he was, but all a-tremble.

“Thank you,” he cried. “Won’t you come home with me? You can sleep in our Little Red Barn.”

“All right,” answered the Big Brown Horse, trotting after the little bunny rabbit boy.

“Perhaps if you hop on my back you’ll be home in the Old Bramble Patch in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” said the Old Brown Horse, noticing how trembly the little rabbit was.

So up hopped the little bunny boy and away they went, trottery trot, bumperty, bump! By and by, after a while, and a laugh and a smile, they came to a big wide river.

“I’m not a very good swimmer,” apologized the kind four-footed animal, “but maybe I can manage to get across.”

“Don’t take too many chances,” advised the little bunny boy rabbit.

But the Old Brown Horse kept right on wading into the water and pretty soon it was up to his shoulder. All of a sudden his feet couldn’t touch bottom. Only a little bit of the top of his back was above water and Little Jack Rabbit had to pull up his feet and hug tight to the Old Brown Horse—hold tight to his mane, you know, so he wouldn’t slip off.

They were now out in the middle of the river where the water ran fast and furious. Dear me! It was now hard work to swim and the Old Brown Horse began to puff and pant as down the river they drifted with the fast flowing current.

“I guess I’m all in,” panted the poor tired steed. “I never was a fine swimmer. The race track was the place where I could show my heels to the best of them!”

“What are we going to do?” asked the anxious little bunny boy, as they drifted farther and farther away. The trees on the shore nodded and seemed to beckon them to swim to land. The white fleecy clouds up in the sky took the shape of fingers pointing to the shore. The poor Old Brown Horse was all tired out and his long thin legs made poor paddle wheels. If only his feet had been flat like Ducky Waddles it would have been an easy matter to have made the shore and landed his little bunny rider safely on the grass.

By and by Mr. Merry Sun drew close to the tip of the Western Hills. The sky became all pinky-purple and golden-blue. Billy Breeze began to whisper sleepy music in the treetops and the birds to fly home to their leafy nests. I guess Mrs. Cow was ringing the little bell on her leather collar to call her long-legged calf. It was past supper time and the Twinkle Twinkle Star would be shining from the sky.

“What shall we do?” asked the little anxious bunny.

“I don’t know,” sadly replied the poor steed. “My feet are dreadfully stiff and cold. I can hardly swish my tail it’s so wet and heavy.”

Just then a voice came across the darkening waters: “I’ll help you!”

“Do it quick!” gasped the Old Brown Horse, still bravely struggling in the swift current. “I’m all in!”

“Oh, please come at once with a boat or a life preserver!” shouted Little Jack Rabbit. “My dear Old Brown Horse is nearly drowned.”

The next moment around a bend in the river came the Billy Goat with his Ferryboat. You remember the Ferryboat, don’t you? The old rowboat with a bicycle in the middle and paddle wheels on the side to push it ahead or backward or any way which Captain Billygoat wished to go.

“Oh, hurry, hurry!” shouted the poor frightened little bunny boy, as the Old Brown Horse floundered about in the angry waters, his head at times almost disappearing and his poor hind legs refusing to make another stroke.

“I’m coming. Keep up!” shouted back the kind Billy Goat, making his hind legs go so fast that the spray from the paddle wheels almost hid him from view. At last, however, and none too soon, he came alongside the poor tired horse.

“Quick! Jump in!” shouted the Billy Goat, and in hopped the bunny rabbit boy.

“Lay your head in the boat,” cried the Billy Goat to the Old Brown Horse.

Dear me! The poor old fellow had scarcely enough strength to do even that. At length, however, he began to breathe easier, for all he had to do was just be towed along.

“You saved me from a watery grave, kind Billy Goat Ferry Man. Some day I’ll do you a friendly deed,” said the grateful horse when the Ferryboat reached the shore.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” replied the Billy Goat. “I’d do anything for you and Little Jack Rabbit. Give my regards to the folks at home!” and away paddled the good lifesaver in his paddle-wheel rowboat to the wharf where the little rabbit boys and girls waited for him to take them to ice cream picnics or lollypop clambakes.

“I’ll take you home now that I’m nicely rested,” said the Old Brown Horse. “I declare, I never thought this river had so swift a current.”

“Oh, I was so frightened,” answered the little rabbit, climbing on his back. “I thought I’d never see the dear Old Bramble Patch again. I want to get home to mother.”

“You’ll be there pretty soon,” replied the old horse, setting off at a brisk trot.

As they neared the Old Bramble Patch they saw Lady Love standing at the gate, shading her eyes with her front paw.

“Home again, my little bunny. Come and eat your bread and honey. You have been away all day, Now with mother you may stay,”

sang the pretty canary.

BUNNY TALE 28

THE VISIT

Oh, when you don’t know what to do Just take a book and read it through. Most often something there you’ll find To give you a contented mind.

You see, we often grow tired of the same old thing. Our roller skates are put aside, our bat and ball don’t interest us; we don’t wish to even run about and look for a good time. And that’s just the way Little Jack Rabbit felt. So, what did he do? Well, he didn’t do anything till Lady Love, his patient bunny rabbit mother, suggested that he read a book.

“What shall I read?” he asked, wiggling his little pink nose as much as to say, “I’d rather eat a lollypop.” But his mother didn’t notice his twinkling nose,—or, if she did, she merely overlooked it.

“Yes, why don’t you read a book,” she repeated. “Books are like friends, sometimes they teach us things, sometimes they amuse us, and sometimes——”

She had no need to finish her sentence, for the little rabbit boy had hopped over to the bookshelf.

After looking over the row of pretty books he picked out one that was called:

“BUNNY BOY’S CRACKER ANIMALS.”

“That sounds interesting,” said the little rabbit boy to himself, and, hopping into a chair, he began to read:

“Once upon a time there lived a Bunny Boy Rabbit who had a little knapsack in which he kept animal crackers. Now this little bunny boy was so fond of his cracker animals that he never could bear to bite off a head or an ear, or a trunk or a tail. By and by his knapsack became so full that it could hold no more. And then something happened. As he hopped along one day he thought to himself, ‘What a racket those Animal Crackers are making in my knapsack. Maybe they are trying to get out.’

“Well, that’s just what they were doing. And all of a sudden, quicker than a wink, the knapsack burst open and

“Away went the Elephant and the Gnu, The tall Giraffe and the Kangaroo, The tawny Tiger and Polar Bear, And the Buffalo Bull with his shaggy hair.

“‘Come back, come back!’ shouted the bunny boy rabbit.

“‘No, siree!’ answered the Animal Crackers, ‘we’re going back to our little Cracker Boxes!’ and away they went, leaving the Bunny Boy Rabbit to fill his knapsack with clover tops or lettuce leaves.”

“Now what shall I do?” cried Little Jack Rabbit.

“Why not visit Uncle John Hare? I’ll pack your clothes in a jiffy,” suggested the little bunny’s mother, looking up from her ironing.

Pretty soon along came the Old Dog Driver with his billy goat team.

“I shall miss you,” said Lady Love, kissing her bunny boy, as he hopped into the carriage.

“Goodness gracious meebus, if that isn’t my little bunny nephew!” shouted dear Uncle Lucky, as the carriage stopped by Lily Pond Lake.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to Uncle John Hare,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’ve a package for him and my knapsack is packed full of clothes. Mother bought me a new tie.”

“What, are you going to make a visit?” asked dear Uncle Lucky, anxiously. He never could keep away very long from his little rabbit nephew. Dear me, no! Uncle Lucky was so fond of Little Jack Rabbit that he wanted to be with him all the time, and even oftener.

“Dear me,” went on poor Uncle Lucky, a lonely feeling spreading all over him from his toes to his head, “I’ll miss you dreadfully.”

“That’s what mother said this morning when she kissed me good-by,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Don’t blame her,” said the old gentleman bunny.

“She said something else, too,” added his little rabbit nephew.

“What was it?” asked dear Uncle Lucky.

“She told me to say every morning when I hopped out of bed, ‘Every day and in every way, I grow better and better.’”

“Don’t forget to do what mother says,” advised Uncle Lucky. “Do what mother says and you’ll never be sorry.”

“Can’t wait much longer,” shouted the Old Dog Driver, knocking the ashes from his pipe. Then, picking up the lines, he clicked git-ap to his billy goats and away rattled the carriage.

“I wish Uncle Lucky were coming, too,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, as they bumped along over the rough road.

“What did you say, little bunny?” asked a motherly looking lady goose, one of the passengers on her way to Goose Creek, Meadowland.

“Oh, I was just thinking aloud,” answered the little bunny boy rabbit. “But what’s the use of wishing? Wishes don’t come true.”

“Sometimes they do,” laughed the nice, kind lady goose, placing her soft feathered wing around him. “I once had an old grandmother goose who told me stories. I haven’t forgotten them. Oh, my, no! I told them to a man and he put them all in a book called “Grandmother Goosey’s Bedtime Rimes”!

“Tell me one,” said Little Jack Rabbit, sleepily.

“Once upon a time,” began the kind lady goose, but before she could say another word the bunny boy was sound asleep.

By and by the Old Dog Driver shouted, “Turnip City! All out!”

Sure enough, it was Turnip City! Just across Lettuce Square on the front porch of his pretty white house stood Uncle John Hare and behind him in the doorway, Mrs. Daisy Duck, his nice old housekeeper.

“Good-by,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, taking off his cap to the Old Lady Goose. Then away he hopped across the square and up the walk that led from the little white gate to the front piazza of Uncle John’s neat little bungalow.

“Well, I’m glad to see you,” cried the nice old gentleman bunny, patting his small nephew on the head.

“And so am I,” quacked Mrs. Daisy Duck. “Now there’ll be somebody young and frisky in the house.”

“What, am I growing so old?” asked Uncle John Hare, hopping about on the piazza with Little Jack Rabbit.

“I feel only twenty one Or maybe twenty two. I’m only just a kid at heart, The same as little you,”

he sang, smiling at his small bunny nephew.

“Quack, quack, quack! I’ve a little country shack, With cheese and crackers on the shelf To which I take my tired self,”

sang Mrs. Daisy Duck.

“It’s down by the Old Duck Pond,” whispered Uncle John Hare. “Mrs. Daisy Duck thinks I don’t know, but one day I hop-tiptoed after her. Don’t tell her, I think she has a nest in her little shack. Maybe someday there’ll be a brood of ducklings.”

“What are you whispering about?” asked the old lady duck, with a quack and a flap of her wings. “Secrets?”

“Maybe,” answered the old gentleman bunny. “Or, perhaps, advice. Give you three guesses.”

“Haven’t time,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, bustling out to the kitchen to look at the lollypop stew and carrot cake. “I must think about supper.”

“Come to your own little room,” said Uncle John Hare, leading the way up the winding stair. His little rabbit nephew followed, his knapsack swinging over his shoulder and his striped candy cane dangling from his elbow.

“There,” exclaimed the dear old gentleman hare, throwing open the door, “nothing has been changed except the calendar. Every day I tore off the date, saying to myself, ‘Perhaps to-morrow he’ll come again to visit his old uncle.’ It came true this morning, so it did,” and with a happy sigh the loving old bunny hare sat down in the rocking chair.

“Yes, your little room has been kept just the same for you,” he went on, “and you must make a long, long visit this time.”

“Oh, I will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit, with a laugh. “Mother said I might stay as long as you wanted me.”

“Well, that won’t be long enough,” answered Uncle John Hare. “Come, part your hair down the middle of your back and wash your paws for supper. I smell the lollypop stew.”

It took little Jack Rabbit less than two and a half minutes to make himself spick and span. Then with a hop, skip and a jump he followed his nice old Uncle to the dining room where Mrs. Daisy Duck had a lovely supper waiting for them.

Perhaps you’d like to hear what was on the table. Lots of little boys and girls don’t know what rabbits eat, I imagine. Well, there was carrot cake and lettuce marmalade, carrot jelly and turnip tea, lollypop stew and cabbage custard. A mighty nice sort of a supper for anybody, seems to me.

Just as they were finishing the cabbage custard there came a loud knocking at the front door.

“Who can it be?” asked Uncle John Hare.

“I’ll soon find out,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, waddling out of the room with her napkin under her left wing.

“Is Mr. John Hare at home?” inquired a loud voice.

“Yes, I’m here,” answered the old gentleman bunny, hopping out into the hall. But when he saw who was calling he wished he had hidden in the cellar. There stood the Ragged Rabbit Giant. You could see only the tops of his boots, for they were as high as the front door. Why, his waistcoat was even with the roof of the little white house and his gold chain tinkled against the red brick chimney every time he leaned down to speak to Mrs. Daisy Duck.

“What can I do for you?” asked Uncle John Hare, as soon as he had caught his breath. “I’d invite you into supper, only you couldn’t accept. Maybe you’d like me to hand you out a cabbage cup custard. Mrs. Daisy Duck is quite famous for her cabbage cup custards.”

“No, I don’t want any custard,” answered the Ragged Rabbit Giant. “I don’t like sweet things. Have you a cabbage leaf cigar?”

“Wait a minute. I think I have,” answered the old gentleman hare in a trembly voice, hopping back into the sitting room.

Pretty soon the giant grew restless. He shuffled his big feet, looked at his watch and then all of a sudden shouted, “Hurry up with that cabbage leaf cigar. I could have walked to Cuba in my seven league boots by this time for a good Smokerino.”

Dear, dear me! I’ve been dreadfully worried while dear Uncle John Hare has been hunting for a cabbage leaf cigar for fear he wouldn’t be able to find it. I don’t know what I’d do if a Ragged Rabbit Giant was waiting outside my little white house on the corner of Lettuce Square and Turnip Street, Turnip City.

“I’ve found it,” answered poor Uncle John Hare, hopping out with Little Jack Rabbit to the front porch.

“Bless my stars!” exclaimed the giant, looking at the little bunny boy as he lighted the cigar, “if this isn’t Lady Love’s little rabbit. Howdy, young bunny. I must be going home. Good-by. Come to see me soon,” and away stalked the big rabbitman in his seven league boots to his castle on Tip Top, Sky-high Mountain, under the stars, for it would be night-time when he arrived home, although he could cover almost a mile every time he took a stride, and when he jumped,—dear me, I can’t figure how much space he covered,—maybe three times a mile.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone,” said Mrs. Daisy Duck from her hiding place. “I declare, my heart beat so loudly I mistook it for the Old Grandfather Clock. Dear, dearie me! I don’t like such great big bunny men. Little ones are nicer,” and hugging Little Jack Rabbit, she gave him a cough drop from a little box she carried in her calico apron pocket.

By and by, after Uncle John Hare had finished smoking his cabbage leaf cigar, he said to his small nephew:

“Let’s have a game of pinochle.”

But, goodness me! The little rabbit was so drowsy that he could hardly keep his eyes open and pretty soon he let all the cards drop to the floor.

“Hoity toity!” exclaimed Uncle John Hare, looking up. But when he saw that the Sand Man had filled his nephew’s eyes with Dream Dust he covered up the little bunny boy and let him sleep where he was until morning.

BUNNY TALE 29

THE MESSENGER

Wake up, wake up! It’s morning now, The Farmer is milking the little black cow, The Rooster is blowing his shiny tin horn And Billy Breeze’s whistling a tune in the corn.

Goodness me! Up jumped Little Jack Rabbit. You remember that the tired little bunny boy had been too sleepy to hop upstairs after playing a game of pinochle with Uncle John Hare, and had fallen asleep in a big arm chair for the night. That’s where we left him, and now we find him wide awake.

“Hurry up, the buckwheat cake Is sizzling hot upon your plate. If you don’t hurry Mrs. Mouse May take it to her tiny house,”

quacked Mrs. Daisy Duck, the old gentleman hare’s housekeeper.

“I’ll hurry,” answered the little rabbit boy, and in less than a jiffy he had combed his hair down the middle of his back, washed his paws and repeated the little verse that Lady Love, his pretty bunny mother, had taught him:

“Every day in every way, I grow better and better.”

After that he and his big appetite hopped into the dining room. There stood dear Uncle John Hare, looking over the _Turnip City News_.

“Well, how did you sleep?” he asked, gazing up over his spectacles.

“Tip top,” replied his small bunny nephew. “I never heard a thing until the Big Red Rooster went ‘cock-a-doodle-do’ on his little tin horn. I guess he woke me up.”

“I imagine so,” replied the old gentleman bunny, with a twinkle in his eye. “My, but you were tired last night after your long ride. Let’s see what Mrs. Daisy Duck has for us.”

Then down sat the two little rabbits as the nice old lady duck waddled in with carrot coffee, clover cereal and buckwheat cakes covered with pink lollypop syrup. Oh, me, oh, my! wasn’t the breakfast good! Well I guess yes three times and maybe four.

Just then somebody knocked on the door, one, two, three, bingo!

“Who’s that, I wonder?” exclaimed Uncle John Hare.

“I’ll see,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck. “You go on with your breakfast. Most likely it’s the gas man with a bill.”

But it wasn’t. No, it was somebody else, only worse. I guess sometimes we ought to be thankful it’s only the gas man!

“Who is it?” asked the old gentleman bunny, as Mrs. Daisy Duck returned with a worried expression on her face and a piece of paper in her bill.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear! It seems to me That Mr. Trouble Man Is always knocking on the door As loudly as he can,”

answered Mrs. Daisy Duck.

“Who is it and what does he want and what’s his name?” asked the old gentleman hare, pulling the napkin from under his chin to wipe his gold-rimmed spectacles instead of his whiskers. Wasn’t that careless of him? Well I should say so, especially as there wasn’t a drop of syrup on them,—I mean his spectacles of course, not his whiskers.

“Read this note,” whispered Mrs. Daisy Duck, looking anxiously over her shoulder as if fearing somebody or something might suddenly come in through the half open door.

Uncle John Hare quickly opened the envelope and read:

“I want a million carrot cents And I want them mighty quick, Just hand them to my messenger Or he’ll hit you with my stick!”

“Dear, oh, dear!” exclaimed the poor old gentleman bunny, dropping this dreadful note on the carpet, “what shall I do?”

“Do something quick,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck, glancing timidly over her shoulder. Indeed she had already almost twisted her long neck into a bowknot.

“All right,” answered the old gentleman hare with a sigh, hopping over to a big iron safe in the corner and squatting down to turn back and forth the little silver knob. Over the door was printed in big gold letters:

“John Hare. Turnip City.”

But, dear me! He was so nervous that the door wouldn’t obey his trembling paw. Over and over, around and around, he turned the little knob, repeating the combination half aloud:

“Twice to the left, three to the right! Then stop at the spot where it says ‘Good night!’”

Just then a loud knocking came at the kitchen door.

“Please hurry,” cried the frightened lady duck housekeeper, looking anxiously into the kitchen. “The messenger is at the back door.”

“Dear, dear! I’m all muddled up!” cried the old gentleman hare.

“Bing, bang, bung! Your doorbell I have rung, Now if my knocking you don’t hear I’ll rattle every chandelier!”

shouted a voice.

“Wait, wait a minute,” answered Mrs. Daisy Duck through the keyhole. “Mr. John Hare is trying to open his safe. You make so much noise he can’t find the combination.”

For a little while the knocking ceased. But, dear me! Uncle John Hare couldn’t remember the combination. Scratching his long left ear with his right hind foot, he turned to Little Jack Rabbit with a sigh.

“Maybe you can unlock it.”

But the little rabbit boy was no more successful. No indeed, although he turned the knob around and started all over again. I guess he never would have found the combination if Bobbie Redvest, the dear little friendly robin, hadn’t hopped to the open window.

“Pull the little knob out just one inch, Then say to yourself, ‘Why, it’s a cinch!’ Next, turn the knob to figure four And you’ll have no trouble with the iron door,”

he whispered.