Part 4

“Wait—a—minute!” whispered the little voice for the third time, as he was about to hop away.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, looking over his shoulder at Mr. Wicked Wolf’s hairy back, “if I wait another minute I’ll never get away.” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.

“Pin up the slit—in the sack—with three—pine needle—pins,” whispered the little voice. All a-tremble, the poor, distracted little rabbit hunted on the ground under the big pine tree until he found the three little pins. Then, oh, so, care-ful-ly, he pinned up the slit in the sack.

“Now’s your chance!” whispered the little voice. “Hide!”

The next minute the little rabbit had hopped behind a tree. Buttoning up his pretty white fur overcoat so that it wouldn’t show around the trunk and drawing together the tips of his little ears, he waited, oh, so anxiously, for maybe just a minute or three.

“Guess I’m rested now!” said Mr. Wicked Wolf, knocking the ashes from his pipe and slipping it in his pocket. Then, drawing the sack up on his shoulder, he started off for home.

“My, what a heavy little bunny you are!” he growled, as he trotted through the woods.

Pretty soon he jumped over the Bubbling Brook. But when he landed on the other side,

The great big stone In the sack Hit him a dreadful Whack on the back.

“Oh, my! What a tough little rabbit you are! But wait till I get you home! Mrs. Wolf will stew you until you’re nice and soft and tender! Ha, ha!”

“Hey, mother,” he shouted, on reaching his little stone house on the wooded hillside, “I have a nice little rabbit for supper.”

Letting the sack slip to the ground, Mr. Wicked Wolf untied it, oh, so care-ful-ly! But, goodness gracious me! When he peeked in and saw a big stone instead of a tender little rabbit, wasn’t he angry?

Shoving in his paw, he pulled out the stone and hurled it across the Sunny Meadow. Whack! it came up against the old apple tree, knocking off twenty big red apples, which almost hit Little Jack Rabbit as he hopped safely back to the dear Old Bramble Patch, where Lady Love, his pretty bunny mother, stood waiting for her little boy at the gate in the old picket fence.

“Cousin Cottontail has invited us over this evening to hear the Jack Rabbit Man tell stories,” she said, kissing her little bunny boy.

“Ha, ha! That will be fine!” cried the little bunny, forgetting all about Mr. Wicked Wolf. Dear me, I wish that wicked wolf had forgotten all about the little rabbit. Then, with a skip and jump, he hopped on the porch.

“Hello, little rabbit boy,” twittered the canary from her gold cage. “What makes you so happy?”

“Didn’t you hear what mother just said?” he asked, with a twinkle of his pretty pink nose.

“No,” answered the pretty yellow bird. “What did she say?”

“That we are invited over to Cousin Cottontail’s to listen on the radio.”

Just then something happened. Isn’t it a shame that unpleasant things so often happen?

“No, you’re not going to hear bunny stories to-night,” growled a deep ugly voice, and there, just outside the Old Bramble Patch, stood Mr. Wicked Wolf. Dear me! How cruel he looked, his big red tongue hanging out of his mouth and his long sharp teeth gleaming like bowie knives in the sunlight.

“What—what are you here for?” asked the little rabbit, all a-tremble.

“Never you mind!” snarled the ugly beast. “I’ll wait here for you.”

“No, no, please don’t wait!” cried the frightened little rabbit.

“Gr-r-r!” growled the big ferocious animal; “I’d like to eat you. I would, if I could only break through into the Old Bramble Patch.”

Little Jack Rabbit didn’t wait to hear more. Quickly taking down the canary cage, he hopped one, two, three, go! into his little bungalow.

“Mother! Mother!” he shouted, skip-toeing into the kitchen, “something dreadful is going to happen to-night. Mr. Wicked Wolf is waiting outside.”

“You don’t say so!” cried the anxious lady bunny. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall we do? I declare, I wish your father wouldn’t go away on business so often.”

“How will we hear the bunny stories to-night?” asked the little rabbit.

“Goodness knows!” replied his mother. “Maybe I’d better telephone.” But, dear, dear me! the wire was out of order and all you could hear was a dreadful buzzing like a million bees.

“Well, if I’m not mad clear through and through,” said Lady Love. “The idea of Mr. Wicked Wolf spoiling our evening. I believe he’s done something to the telephone wire,” and the ex-as-per-ated lady bunny again took down the receiver. Then, all of a sudden, she hopped over to the electric drop-light and, unscrewing the silk cord connection, placed it against the telephone.

Goodness me! What a howl of pain came from the outskirts of the Old Bramble Patch. With a laugh, Lady Love hopped over to the back porch and pointed to Mr. Wicked Wolf limping across the Sunny Meadow.

“He had pulled down my telephone wire,” cried the lady bunny, “but he let go when I gave him a shock of electricity. Ha, ha! I guess he won’t trouble us any more this evening.” Then putting on her little sunny bonnet with the pinky roses on it, she and Little Jack Rabbit hopped over to Cousin Cottontail’s house.

BUNNY TALE 7

TIMMIE MEADOWMOUSE

Little Jack Rabbit looked out of the tiny white bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch. The rain was falling and the Sunny Meadow wasn’t the least bit sunny. No, indeed. The Bubbling Brook was making a great fuss as it rushed along, sometimes overflowing its banks and making little lakes in the hollow spaces.

“Ker dunk! ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog from his log in the Old Duck Pond. He didn’t mind the rain. His rubber coat kept him nice and dry. As for his shoes, I guess he’d never outgrown his boyhood’s delight in bare legs.

Down from the Farmyard waddled Duckey Waddles on his big wide wabbly yellow feet. He loved the wet weather, oh, my yes. Pretty soon he went in for a swim, now and then, and sometimes oftener, standing on his head in the water to catch a little minnow.

“Quack, quack!” he shouted in answer to Granddaddy Bullfrog’s solemn “Ker dunk, ker dunk!”

Up at the Farmyard Cocky Doodle, Henny Jenny, Goosey Lucy and Turkey Tim stood out of the wet under the old cowshed, wondering how long Mr. Merry Sun would hide behind the gray rain clouds.

On the top of the Big Red Barn the weathercock turned to and fro on his gilded toe, for Billy Breeze was blowing across the open spaces, now sending the clouds helter-skelter over the sky, now bending the dripping bushes or shaking the raindrops from the apple trees.

“I wish you’d let me point to the West,” sighed the Weathercock. “Then it would soon clear up.”

“Maybe I will,” answered Billy Breeze, and all of a sudden he blew away a dark cloud and out came Mr. Merry Sun with a smile.

“Hurray!” shouted the Weathercock, swinging about on his toe to point to the West. “Now we’ll have a beautiful day.”

“I think so,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, hopping out of his pretty white bungalow and down the narrow path through the rough brambles to the Sunny Meadow.

Just then who should come along but Timmie Meadowmouse. My, but he was glad to see the lovely sunshine.

“Howdy! Have you heard the news?” he asked.

“What news?” asked the little rabbit, curiously, thinking, “Goodness me! Something dreadful has happened,” as he twinked his little pink nose and winked his two big pink eyes.

“Stop!” cried the tiny meadowmouse, “you make me so dizzy, I can’t think.”

“All right,” replied the little rabbit, “but hurry. I’m afraid something has happened to Chippy Chipmunk or the Big Brown Bear.”

“Not a bit of it,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, taking off his little fur cap. All of a sudden, quick as a flash, or a smash or a dash, down from the sky swooped Hungry Hawk.

“Look out!” shouted the little rabbit, hopping under a bush. But, dear me! The tiny meadowmouse was just a second too late. The next minute up in the air he went, held tightly in the cruel claws of the old hawk.

“Help! help!” shouted poor frightened Timmie Meadowmouse, as higher and higher flew the big feathered robber until pretty soon he looked like a tiny speck in the sky.

“How can I save my little friend?” cried the unhappy bunny boy. But nobody answered him, not even Billy Breeze, who is such a good friend to all the little people of the Shady Forest and the Sunny Meadow.

The anxious little rabbit looked this way and that way, but all he could see was a tiny speck in the blue sky as the old robber bird flew swiftly away.

Just then the bunny boy noticed another speck in the sky, only larger and of a different shape.

“What is that?” he asked himself, hoping it might be the kind American Eagle who had once befriended him.

But no, it was not. No, indeed, it was something very, very different. Oh, my, yes, I should say so.

As there was nothing to be gained by standing still on the Sunny Meadow, the dis-con-so-late (which means hopelessly unhappy, little readers) bunny boy rabbit hopped away until, all of a sudden, just like that, he almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy, who was holding a long string that rose up and up and up into the air until it ended in a queer shaped something with a long tail that swung to and fro as Billy Breeze laughed and whistled across the white cloud meadows of the sky.

Yes, sir, Little Jack Rabbit almost bumped into the Farmer’s Boy. You see, the little bunny, looking up into the sky as he hopped along, had paid little attention to his feet.

“Hello!” exclaimed the Farmer’s Boy. “Your eyes are filled with tears. What’s the matter, little rabbit?”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” cried the little bunny. “Hungry Hawk has carried off little Timmie Meadowmouse.”

“Where to?” asked the Farmer’s Boy, curiously.

“Do you see that little speck?” asked the sorrowful little rabbit, pointing upward.

“Yes,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Just to the right of my kite. Yes, I see it.”

“That’s Hungry Hawk,” sobbed the little bunny boy. “He has Timmie Meadowmouse in his claws.”

“I’m sorry,” answered the Farmer’s Boy, and then, all of a sudden, he started to run across the Sunny Meadow, pulling in the kite string at the same time. For a moment Little Jack Rabbit was too surprised to move. Then away he hopped after the Farmer’s Boy. You see, the little bunny was so sorry for the poor little mouse that he forgot all about his fear of the Farmer’s Boy. Yes, indeed, that’s what sorrow does sometimes, and maybe oftener. When we are sorry for some one else we often forget our own troubles.

By the time the little rabbit had caught up to the Farmer’s Boy there was a great commotion going on ’way up in the big blue sky. Oh, my, yes. I tell you what, that Farmer’s Boy was a clever fellow. He hadn’t lived on a farm all his life for nothing. No, indeed. He had taught himself things which the old schoolmaster never dreamed of as he sat at his desk in the little red school house on the hill, where the children’s feet were never still. My, how strangely that boy behaved! Suddenly he would dash off to the right, then away to the left; then backward, next forward, sometimes letting out the string, or winding it up again.

“What is he doing?” thought the little bunny boy, gazing up into the sky at the big kite, which seemed only a trifle larger than Hungry Hawk. Oh, dear, I’m so worried for fear that poor little mouse will be eaten by that dreadful old robber bird.

All of a sudden the Farmer’s Boy, with a yell of delight, started to run backward as fast as he could go. “I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” he kept shouting, as he pulled in the kite, hand over hand.

“What do you mean?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, all a-tremble, hopping about on one leg.

“I’ve caught the old hawk in my kite! I’m pulling him down, you betcher!” answered the Farmer’s Boy, as he carefully pulled in the string hand over hand, taking care to keep the string taut lest by a sudden slip backward the kite might untangle itself from the struggling bird. As the good home-made, brown paper kite slowly descended the little rabbit boy could make out the figure of Hungry Hawk pressed tight against the frame, his wings entangled in the face-strings.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Farmer’s Boy. “If I only had four hands and my gun along, I’d shoot the old bird from here.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” cried the little bunny boy rabbit. “You might hit Timmie Meadowmouse.”

“Like enough. Never thought about it,” answered the Farmer’s Boy. “Mebbe it’s just as well the old gun is home.”

By this time the kite was just overhead. Billy Breeze was helping all he could. He blew hard and strong, with a steady pressure, keeping the big brown paper kite from dipping. Maybe he was laughing at the old robber bird! Just then a little black figure dropped on a pile of hay on the Sunny Meadow.

“It’s Timmie Meadowmouse!” shouted the little bunny boy, but the Farmer’s Boy was so intent on his job he never turned his head. No, siree. He had all he could do to manage the kite. Frantically beating his wings, the old hawk wiggled and jiggled, this way and that, vainly trying to free himself from the clinging tied-together pieces of rags that formed the rudder to the big brown kite.

But, dear me! Just as the Farmer’s Boy reached up to grasp the fierce bird, either Billy Breeze forgot himself, or the good old kite could stand the strain no longer, or something gave way, a string or two, maybe a knot. All of a sudden, with a wiggle and jiggle, Hungry Hawk slipped out and sailed away, up and up, across the Big Red Barn to the freedom of the open sky.

Yes, away he went. And, oh, dear me! I’m sorry that crafty old bird is free, Much like a trouble that’s over to-day With another one waiting us over the way. But mother will teach you what to do, So don’t be afraid of a trouble or two.

BUNNY TALE 8

INVITATIONS

“Have you heard the news?” asked the Old Brown Horse.

“What news?” enquired Little Jack Rabbit, hopping along with the friendly steed under the warm rays of Mr. Merry Sun in the Big Blue Sky.

“Why, the circus is at Turnip City,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “The Circus Elephant, the funny clowns, and the roller skating bears.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” exclaimed the little rabbit. “I want to see them.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve never been to the circus!” whinnied the good Old Horse. “Well, you’ve got a treat.”

“Oh, take me to the Circus To see the elephants dance! Oh, take me to the Circus Where the horses neigh and prance; Where all the clowns make funny jokes And try to tease the Circus Folks,”

begged the little bunny, hopping back into the Old Bramble Patch.

“So you’d like to go to the circus, eh?” asked Mr. Rabbit, winking at Lady Love, who was making Turnip Tea for Old Mrs. Bunny.

“Please take me,” begged the little rabbit.

“All right, I’ll hire the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us, and maybe a few friends,” answered Mr. Rabbit, and up he hopped to call dear Uncle Lucky on the telephone:

“Central, give me Clover Dell, One, two, three, ring Happy Bell.”

“Hello, hello, who’s calling me? The wire’s buzzing like a bee,”

answered the old gentleman rabbit.

“Listen, Uncle Lucky! I’m hiring the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to your circus at Turnip City,” explained Mr. Rabbit.

“Well, I’ll come over with a bushel of passes,” answered the dear generous old gentleman bunny. “What time do you go?”

“At seven o’clock to-morrow morning. We must get an early start,” answered Mr. Rabbit.

“Now, whom shall we invite?” he enquired, turning to his small bunny son, who was hopping about, so happy to know he was going to the circus to see the animals and the clowns, and maybe a monkey and a bear and a Mexican dog without any hair.

“Whom shall we invite?” repeated Mr. Rabbit.

“All your friends and all my friends, and maybe some more,” answered the bunny boy with a hop, skip and jump out on the porch of the little white house in the Old Bramble Patch.

Just then the little canary bird in her gold cage began to twitter:

“The birds within the Shady Wood And on the Meadow Green, Are building nests of twigs and strings And moss pressed in between.

But I’m content within my cage To sing my sweetest song. For discontent, my little boy, Will often set you wrong.”

“I’m not discontented,” replied the little bunny boy, “I’m happy. Father is going to take me to the circus,” and he hopped down the path through the bramble bushes.

“Timmie Meadowmouse, Timmie Meadowmouse!”

“What do you want?” asked the tiny mouse, peeking out of his little round house of woven grass.

“Want to go to the circus? Father is going to hire the Billy Goat Stage. We start at 7 to-morrow morning.”

“I’ll be up bright and early,” answered Timmie Meadowmouse, darting back into his little house to get out his best Sunday-go-to-meeting suit.

“Timmie Meadowmouse will go,” cried Little Jack Rabbit, hopping back into the house.

“Nobody will refuse, I imagine,” laughed Lady Love. “Whom else have you invited?”

“I’m going over to the Barnyard,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “I’ll invite everybody I meet,” and off he hopped. By and by, after a while, but not nearly a mile, he spied Granddaddy Bullfrog on his big log near the bank of the Old Duck Pond.

“Oh, Granddaddy Bullfrog! Father is going to hire the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to the circus to-morrow morning. We start at 7, right after breakfast. Will you come along?”

“To be sure I will,” answered the old frog. “I haven’t been to the circus for a long time. Hurrah! I’ll be a kid again and eat a ton of peanuts—maybe!”

“Be at the Old Bramble Patch on time,” shouted the little rabbit, who by this time was half across the Sunny Meadow on his merry way.

“Hello, hello! What brings you here?” Asked the Weathercock from on high. Always first to spy anything With his wonderful lookout eye.

“I’m inviting all my friends to the circus,” replied the little bunny, with a happy laugh. “We all leave to-morrow morning at 7, right after breakfast. Where’s Cocky Doodle?”

“Here I am,” crowed the little rooster. “I heard you. I’ll go to the circus. Many thanks.”

“Cackle, cackle, what do you think, This morning the sky was yellow and pink. Mr. Merry Sun was just out of bed— His nightcap crinkled all over his head,”

cackled Henny Jenny, who had just laid a pretty white egg in her little round nest.

“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit. “We start to-morrow morning at seven from the Old Bramble Patch. Father has hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all to Uncle Lucky’s Circus at Turnip City.”

“Oh, yes, I’ll wear my nicest dress And my pinky coral comb. You’ll surely bring me back again, For it’s very far from home.”

“Of course we will,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Don’t forget me,” cried Goosey Lucy.

“Will you come?” asked the little bunny.

“To be sure,” answered the nice lady goose. “Don’t forget Ducky Waddles.”

“Where is he?” asked the bunny boy, looking here and there and everywhere.

“He went for a swim in the Old Duck Pond,” answered Henny Jenny.

“Why, I just came from there,” replied the little bunny. “I didn’t see him. I saw only Granddaddy Bullfrog.”

“Well, you see him now,” quacked a familiar voice, and there stood Ducky Waddles himself. He had just waddled around from behind the Big Red Barn.

“Will you come to my circus party?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.

“I couldn’t refuse,” laughed the nice little duck.

Now, I wonder next who will be invited to the Circus. Listen, and you shall hear, for the little bunny has just hopped around the Big Haystack.

“Mrs. Cow, won’t you come to the circus?”

“Where is it?” enquired that nice lady cow, whipping her tail to and fro to scare away the flies. “I can’t go far for my little baby calf needs me ’most all the time.”

“At Turnip City,” answered Little Jack Rabbit.

“Oh, dear! You must excuse me,” replied Mrs. Cow. “That’s too far away. I’ll wait for Uncle Lucky’s Circus to come to Rabbitville. But thank you, just the same.”

“Now, who else?” thought the little bunny, when, all of a sudden, he spied Turkey Tim.

“Won’t you come to my circus party?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered the big turkey gobbler. “What time, and where, and how?”

“To-morrow morning at seven o’clock we all go in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. Be on time at the Old Bramble Patch,” and away hopped Little Jack Rabbit, his long ears catching the turkey gobbler’s poetry answer:

“I’ll be there before it’s seven, I’ll be first of the umpty-’leven.”

Pretty soon the little bunny spied Squirrel Nutcracker in his gray fur suit, sitting on a tree stump in the Shady Forest.

“Oh, won’t you be glad when you hear what I’m going to say,” laughed the rabbit boy.

“Hurry up and tell me,” cried the curious squirrel.

“I’m giving a circus party,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “And we’ve hired the Billy Goat Stage Coach to take us all down to the circus at Turnip City. Want to come along?”

“Well, I guess yes three times!” answered Squirrel Nutcracker, springing up from the log to dance about on his hind legs. “It’s a whole year since I’ve been to the circus.”

“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow morning at seven,” replied the little bunny, and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, up the winding trail to the cave of the Big Brown Bear.

“Hello, hello!” shouted the little rabbit.

“What’s the matter?” enquired a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Bear came to the door, over which hung a big sign;

LOLLYPOPS AND HONEY.

“What can I do for you, bunny boy? Do you wish a lollypop for a toy?”

he asked, his growly voice changing into a nice friendly voice on seeing the little bunny.

“I’d like a lollypop,” answered the little rabbit, “but I don’t want to play with it—I’ll eat it.”

“All right,” laughed the Big Brown Bear, shuffling into his cave for a yellow lollypop with little raisins on the top.

“I’m giving a circus party,” explained the bunny boy, sitting down beside the Big Brown Bear. “Want to come?”

“Well, I should say so,” answered the big kind animal. “I have a cousin who skates on wheels in Uncle Lucky’s circus. I’d like to see him.”

“Well then, be at the Old Bramble Patch to-morrow at seven in the early morning. We’re all going in the Billy Goat Stage Coach. Won’t we have fun?”

“More fun than a bagful of monkeys,” answered the Big Brown Bear, filling his pipe with dry corncob silk and puffing away for maybe a minute and maybe more, while the smoke curled up to the top of the door.

“Who else is going?”

“Oh, everybody,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Granddaddy Bullfrog, Henny Jenny, Cocky Doodle, Turkey Tim, Goosey Lucy, Ducky Waddles, Timmie Meadowmouse, Chippy Chipmunk, and lots more whom I haven’t yet invited.”

“Will the Billy Goat Stage Coach hold them all?” asked the Big Brown Bear re-flec-tive-ly, which means “thinking it over,” dear little boys and girls.

“I guess so,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “Some can sit on top and some under the seats and some on the seats, and—oh, yes, I’m sure it will hold us all.”

“All right, I’ll be on time, for

I love the clowns and the sawdust ring, In fact, I love ’most everything That’s in the circus and round about; The lion’s roar and the elephant’s shout, The pistol shot and the cracking whip, And the chariot driver’s furious clip,”

sang the Big Brown Bear.

“I’ll be looking for you,” said the little rabbit, as he hopped away to invite more of his Shady Forest friends. In a little while he came to the Forest Pool. There sat Busy Beaver on the mud roof of his little house, happy and contented, for the day was warm and bright and he had slumbered well all night.