Part 6

Up in the air went Uncle Wiggily. He sailed around and around, looking down on the ground for the little lost lamb, but all the rabbit gentleman could see were trees, woods and green fields.

“I wonder if I can ever find that little lost lamb for the mamma sheep whose wool saved me from a bad fall?” thought Uncle Wiggily. “I must try my best.”

So he looked and he looked again, and, all of a sudden, he heard a little voice crying:

“Baa! Baa! Baa!”

“Ha! There is the little lost lamb crying for its mamma,” said Uncle Wiggily. He looked down over the side of his clothes basket airship, and there, on the earth below, he saw the little lamb, caught fast in a prickly briar bush. The thorns and stickers of the bush had become entangled in the lamb’s wool, and it could not get loose, no matter how it tried.

“Baa! Baa! Baa! I shall never see my mamma again!” cried the poor little lamb, who had wandered away and become lost in the bushes. “Oh, where is my mamma?”

“Ha! I will take you to her!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. Down, again, he went in his airship, and, with a pair of scissors he had in his pocket, Uncle Wiggily soon cut off the briars from the bramble bush so he could loosen the little lamb. Then, in his paws, Uncle Wiggily carried the lamb to the airship, and put it on the soft sofa cushions.

“Oh, I am so hungry!” bleated the little lamb.

“And I have just the things for you to eat!” cried Uncle Wiggily. Then he gave the little lamb some of the bread, milk and sugar, he had bought at the store, and soon they were at the field where the lamb lived with its mamma.

And, Oh! how glad the mamma sheep was to see her lamb again! She thanked Uncle Wiggily again and again, and Uncle Wiggily blushed behind his ears, he was so bashful-like. So you see it is sometimes a good thing to fall out of an airship upon a load of wool.

And very soon, if the trolley car doesn’t slip off the track, and run over the wax doll’s rubber ball, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the soap bubbles.

STORY XX

UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE SOAP BUBBLES

“Well, do you think anything will happen to you this morning?” asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, as she saw him starting off for a ride in his airship one day.

“You never can tell,” he answered. “I may have the most wonderful adventure, and again I may just sail around, and come back again, with nothing more than a yeast cake.”

“Speaking of yeast cakes, one would be very good for you to carry along with you in your airship,” said Nurse Jane.

“Why?” Uncle Wiggily wanted to know.

“Because yeast makes the bread rise, and it might make your airship rise, in case your circus balloons were to burst, and let you down,” the muskrat lady replied.

“I am very glad you mentioned it,” said Uncle Wiggily, making his most polite bow. “I shall get a yeast cake the very first chance I have.”

Then he went out sailing in his airship, but he had not gone very far above the tree tops before he heard, down below him, a voice saying:

“Oh, dear! I wish I had something to do!”

“Ha! Somebody else in trouble!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. “I must go down and see if I cannot help them.”

So down he went in his airship, and whom do you suppose it was he found? Why, Arabella, the little chicken girl, was sitting on the doorstep of the hencoop, crying as hard as she could cry.

“Oh, what is the matter?” asked Uncle Wiggily kindly.

“I have no one to play with!” sobbed Arabella. “You see I am just getting over the mumps, and none of the other animal children, who have not had the mumps, want to play with me. And nobody but I has had the mumps!” she sobbed.

“That is too bad!” said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. “But perhaps I can make up a little fun for you. Do you like to blow soap bubbles?”

“Oh, indeed I do!” cried Arabella, making her wing feathers wiggle. “I just love to do it! But I have no soap suds, and no pipe with which to blow the bubbles.”

“Say no more!” cried Uncle Wiggily in a jolly voice. “I will get everything you need.”

Off he went in his airship to the soap bubble store. There he bought a pipe, and a nice cake of scented soap, that smelled like a barber shop. Coming back to where Arabella still sat, all alone on the doorstep of the chicken coop, Uncle Wiggily made her a nice bowl full of soapy suds.

“Now you may blow some nice bubbles, Arabella,” spoke the rabbit gentleman. “I will watch you for a while, and then I will ride along in my airship, and look for an adventure.”

“Aren’t you afraid of catching my mumps?” asked Arabella with a laugh.

“Oh, bless your hair ribbon! I’ve had ’em!” cried the old rabbit gentleman, jolly like.

Then he watched Arabella blow the bubbles. And what large ones the little chicken girl blew from the bowl of the pipe! The bubbles were red, and green and blue and yellow and purple in color. They floated up in the air like balloons.

“My, you are certainly a fine bubble-blower!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. “But I must go now.”

“Thank you, for making some fun for me,” spoke Arabella most politely.

Then she blew bubbles by herself, as Uncle Wiggily sailed away in his airship. He had not gone very far before, all of a sudden, out of a tree flew a bad wasp, with a stinger in the end of his tail. Oh, this wasp-bee was very angry! I think perhaps he had had no honey that day, for his breakfast.

“What do you mean, by flying over my tree?” asked the wasp of Uncle Wiggily, saucy like.

“Excuse me,” spoke the rabbit gentleman, “but I did not harm your tree, just sailing over it in my airship.”

“Yes you did!” buzzed the wasp. “You made the leaves flutter with your electric fan. Now I am going to sting your balloons.”

And, before Uncle Wiggily could stop her, that bad wasp flew up, and stung a hole in every one of the toy circus balloons that floated on top of the rabbit gentleman’s airship.

“Oh, I must get away from here!” cried Uncle Wiggily, and, making his airship go as fast as he could, the rabbit gentleman was soon far away from the bad wasp.

But alas! Likewise unhappiness. The balloons were filled with holes, from the sting of the wasp, and all the air began leaking out of them. The airship began to fall, having nothing to hold it up.

“Oh, my!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “Here I go again!”

And down to the ground he came, only the sofa cushions in the clothes basket made a soft place for him on which to fall, and so he was not hurt.

“Oh, dear!” Uncle Wiggily exclaimed. “My airship is spoiled!” He tried to make it go up again, but, of course, it would not, with the balloons all burst as they were, so they could not hold air.

“What am I to do?” asked Uncle Wiggily. “I should have brought along a yeast cake, as Nurse Jane told me to do, and then I could rise. Alas, now I cannot go up like a loaf of bread.”

“Oh, yes you can, Uncle Wiggily!” exclaimed a voice near him, and there stood Arabella, the chicken girl, with her pipe, and bowl of soap suds for blowing bubbles.

“How can I go up when the balloons are burst?” asked the rabbit gentleman.

“With my soap bubbles!” cackled Arabella. “Soap bubbles are very light, and will rise in the air just like balloons. I will blow you a lot of bubbles, you can fasten them to your airship, and up you will go.” Then she blew forty-’leven bubbles, or maybe more, for all I know. Uncle Wiggily caught them, and fastened them with silk threads, and cobwebs, which a kind spider lady spun for him, to his clothes basket airship, just as the toy circus balloons had been fastened.

And the bubbles were so light, and went up in the air so nicely, that they took the airship and Uncle Wiggily up with them. The old gentleman rabbit just had time to thank Arabella for blowing the soap bubbles for him, and then he was far above the trees, sailing away.

“Arabella was certainly a smart chicken girl to think of raising my airship with soap bubbles!” cried Uncle Wiggily, and then later on he stopped in the drug store, and had a quart of strawberry ice cream sent to the hencoop for the little chicken girl, and the old rabbit gentleman took another quart home for Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy. So you see, sometimes it is a good thing to have a wasp sting toy circus balloons on an airship.

And, on the page after this, if the vegetable man doesn’t put an orange on our clothes post, for the pussy cat to play tag with, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the cake of ice.

STORY XXI

UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE CAKE OF ICE

“My goodness me sakes alive and a bushel of apple sauce!” exclaimed Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, one evening. She had come out on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow and was fanning herself with a cabbage leaf, left over from Uncle Wiggily’s supper.

“Why, what in the world is the matter, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy?” asked the old rabbit gentleman, as he looked up at the tip of his ear to see if a mosquito was sitting there in a rocking chair. But none was, I am glad to say. “What is the matter, Nurse Jane?” he asked.

“Matter!” cried the muskrat lady, “it is so very hot! That is what’s the matter. And it will be warmer to-morrow!”

“How can you tell?” Uncle Wiggily wanted to know. “To-morrow is not here yet, and when it comes it will be to-day instead of to-morrow.”

“I suppose that is one of your jokes,” spoke Nurse Jane, as she tied her tail in two knots and part of another one, so she would not step on it when she danced the corn meal flop, which she and Uncle Wiggily did every evening. “Another joke, eh, Wiggy, about to-morrow never coming?” repeated Nurse Jane.

“Oh, I will have my joke once in a while,” chuckled the rabbit gentleman. “But what makes you think it is going to be so warm?” and Uncle Wiggily took a drink of boiled ice cream cone soda water, so he would not catch cold.

“I can tell it is going to be warm because the sunset is so red and fiery,” answered Nurse Jane, as she looked over toward the West, where the sun was going to bed.

“Well, tell Mr. Whitewash, the polar bear gentleman, to leave us an extra large piece of ice to-morrow, if it going to be so hot,” said Uncle Wiggily. Then he went over to call on Grandfather Goosey Gander, the goose gentleman, who was out raking up his corn meal garden, so he could have pancakes for breakfast.

The next day was indeed very hot. Nurse Jane arose very early, and the first thing she did was to put out, on the front porch of the hollow stump bungalow, a card which had printed on it, in large letters, the word:

ICE.

“There!” exclaimed Nurse Jane, as she gave the rose geranium flower a drink of buttermilk, “Mr. Whitewash, the polar bear gentleman, will see that sign and bring us a nice large cake of ice.”

But nothing ever turns out, in this world, the way you think it is going to. At least it never does for me. Many a time I have made up my mind, in the morning, that in the evening I would go to a moving picture show. But, when evening came, time and time again, I have had to go to a baseball game. Still one cannot help it. I only mention that to show that you never can tell what will happen.

Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy could not, either. When she put out the ice sign she certainly thought Mr. Whitewash would bring in a nice, large cake. But he did not. In fact, Mr. Whitewash did not even see the sign.

What happened was this: Soon after Nurse Jane put out the cardboard notice, along came Billie Bushytail, the boy squirrel, and his brother Johnnie.

“Oh, Johnnie,” cried Billie, pointing with his paw. “There’s a fine piece of cardboard to make a lemonade sign for us. We can write on the back of it, ‘LEMONADE: FIVE CENTS A GLASS,’ and put it up over our stand.”

“So we can!” exclaimed Billie. Then the squirrel boys, not meaning to do anything wrong, you understand, took down the ice sign Nurse Jane had hung out on Uncle Wiggily’s porch. And those squirrel boys made another sign on the back of the piece of pasteboard, advertising their lemonade sale, which they held on their lawn. I’ll tell you about that in another story.

Well, it got warmer and warmer, and it was nearly noon. The small piece of ice in Nurse Jane’s refrigerator had melted and she needed more.

“I wonder what has happened to Mr. Whitewash, the Polar bear?” she remarked. “He hasn’t come yet.” She went out to look down the street, and she saw Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, on her porch.

“Has the Polar ice bear been past yet?” asked Nurse Jane.

“Long ago,” answered Mrs. Wibblewobble. Then Nurse Jane saw that her sign was gone, and though she did not know who had taken it, she knew the ice bear had not seen it, and that was the reason he brought in no ice. When he saw no sign he supposed his animal customers wanted no ice, and drove on.

“Oh, dear!” cried Nurse Jane. “No ice, and it is very hot. It is hotter even than I thought it would be. My butter will melt and the milk will sour. Oh, what shall I do?”

“Hush! Calm yourself, my dear! Have no fear!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. “I will go down in my airship to the factory where Mr. Whitewash, the Polar bear gentleman, makes his ice, and bring a cake home for you.”

“That will be lovely!” cried Nurse Jane, fanning herself with the coal shovel, she was so excited-like.

It did not take Uncle Wiggily long to go after the cake of ice, as his airship went very fast. Soon he was on his way back to the hollow stump with it, flying very swiftly, and thinking how nice it would be to have a glass of ice water.

But, as he rode along over the tree-tops, down below he heard voices crying:

“Why, it’s raining! It’s raining hard!” A number of the animal people were running in the house after their umbrellas.

“Raining!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “It isn’t raining, or I’d feel the drops. Besides, there isn’t a cloud in the sky!”

“The rain is coming from your airship!” cried Sammie Littletail, the boy rabbit who stood down below on the ground. “The water is dropping from your airship.”

“Oh, it is the cake of ice! The ice is melting and running through the holes in the clothes basket,” spoke Uncle Wiggily. And, surely enough, the cake of ice had melted and the water of it fell from the airship and made every one think it was raining. And when Uncle Wiggily reached the hollow stump, there was not a bit of ice left—it had all melted.

But, as it happened, Mr. Whitewash, the Polar bear gentleman, came past on his return trip and in his wagon, where it could not melt, he had a big cake of ice. This he gave to Nurse Jane, for her refrigerator and all was well. Everybody was happy, and Uncle Wiggily said the next time he went after a cake of ice he would wrap it up in a blanket so it would not melt and make his friends believe it was raining, when it was not.

So that shows you a hot day is of some use after all, and on the page after this if the lemonade pitcher doesn’t go to the ink well for a glass of jelly, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and Charlie Chick.

STORY XXII

UNCLE WIGGILY AND CHARLIE CHICK

“Well, what are you doing, Charlie, my boy?” asked Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, of the little chicken chap, one day, as he saw Charlie on the shores of the duck pond with some boards, a hammer, a saw, some nails, a fishpole and part of a bed sheet. “What are you making, Charlie?”

“I am going to make a sailboat and go sailing across the duck pond,” replied Charlie, as he ruffled up his tail feathers and made a polite bow. Chicken boys always ruffle up their tail feathers when they bow. It’s a way they’ve been taught at school, so Charlie did just right, you see.

“A sailboat, eh?” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily. “Well, I hope you have a nice sail on the duck pond.”

“Thank you, Uncle Wiggily. Don’t you want to come with me?” asked Charlie still more politely as he gave a little crow. Whenever a chicken chap gives you an invitation to go anywhere with him, he always crows. They are brought up that way, so Charlie did the right act again, you see.

“Sail with you? No, I thank you, Charlie,” replied Uncle Wiggily. “You see, I am on my way in my airship to go to the store for Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy. She wants some oranges to put in the potato cakes for supper. Some other time I will sail with you.”

And the old rabbit gentleman, who really was out for a sail in his airship, started off again for the store. He had been sailing overhead, but, when he saw Charlie on the shore of the duck pond, Uncle Wiggily came down to see what the chicken boy was doing.

“Well, now if I hoist my sail on the fishpole I think my boat will be finished, and I can cross the duck pond,” said Charlie to himself, after a bit. He had hammered and sawed and pounded, nailing together board and stick, until really he had made quite a nice chicken boat.

So, while Uncle Wiggily was on the way to the store in his airship, Charlie started to sail across the duck pond, which was very large just then, as so much water had rained in it.

“Oh, this is great!” Charlie crowed, as the wind blew on his sail and pushed the boat along through the water. “I only wish I had some of my friends aboard to enjoy it with me.”

Charlie was always that way—not a bit selfish.

So he sailed and he sailed, back and forth across the pond, and, now and then, he looked up to the sky to see if he could see any signs of Uncle Wiggily coming back. But he saw nothing of the rabbit gentleman in his airship.

But the wind, which had been blowing more and more gently, suddenly stopped altogether, and there Charlie’s boat was, becalmed out in the middle of the duck pond, far from shore.

“Oh ho!” cried Charlie. “This is not very pleasant. I wonder how I am going to get to shore?”

He looked all about him, but he could see no way of getting to dry land unless the wind should blow him. For Charlie had in his boat no oars, so he could not row. He had no pole with which to push, though he might have taken down the fishpole on which was fastened his sail. But he did not want to do this.

“And the duck pond is too deep for me to wade,” said Charlie to himself, “and I cannot swim. Now, if I were only a duck, I would be all right. I could then jump off and swim. But, as it is, I must stay here until the wind comes again, to blow on my sail and send me to shore.”

So Charlie waited, and it was not much fun. It grew late, and soon, he knew, it would be supper time. Still he was out in the middle of the duck pond, far from shore.

“Help! Help!” crowed Charlie. “Will no one help me get to land in my boat?”

No one answered him. If Lulu or Alice or Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck children, had been near there I am sure they would have helped Charlie. But all the ducks were away that day, having gone to a Mother Goose party. So no one heard Charlie call.

“Oh, if there was only some wind!” cried the chicken boy. “I think I shall whistle for a breeze, as I have read of sailors doing when they want their boats to go.”

So Charlie whistled all the tunes he could think of, such as: “Please Don’t Tip the Milk Can Over,” and “Who Put Soap in Dollie’s Eye?”

But, no matter how much the chicken boy whistled, no breeze came to blow against his sail and waft him to shore.

“Well, I guess I will have to blow my own wind,” said Charlie, after a bit. “That may help.” So he puffed up his chest, and through his bill he blew a strong blast on the sail. But it did no good, any more than it would do you good if you took hold of your shoe laces and tried to raise yourself up off the floor.

“Oh, dear!” cried Charlie. “I guess I’ll have to stay here all night, and I want to be home for supper, because they’re going to have corn meal shortcake. Oh will no one help me?”

But no one came near the duck pond and no wind blew, and the boat was still out in the middle of the water. It did look as though Charlie would be out all night, as he once was with the wild turkey.

“Oh, will no one help me?” cried Charlie, for the last time.

“Yes, I will!” shouted a voice up in the air, and Charlie, who was just going to put his head under his wing and go to sleep, roused up and crowed:

“Oh, are you going to help me? Who are you?”

“Uncle Wiggily Longears, in his airship!” was the answer. “I see what is the trouble. You have no wind for your sailboat. Here, catch that!” And, hovering up in the air over the chicken boy’s boat, the rabbit gentleman dropped down a clothes line he had bought in the store for Nurse Jane. “Hold fast to that, Charlie!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “I’ll keep hold of my end and I’ll soon pull you to shore with my airship.”

Charlie held the rope tightly in his claw, and off started Uncle Wiggily in the airship, towing the chicken boat along over the duck pond. Soon he was safe on shore and, after thanking the rabbit gentleman; Charlie said:

“The next time I go sailing I am going to take a balloon full of wind along with me to blow my sail. Then I will be all right.”

So this shows you a clothes line is good for something, after all, and on the page after this, if our window shade doesn’t roll up so fast that it jumps through the dish pan, like a circus lady off an elephant’s back, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and Lulu Wibblewobble.

STORY XXIII

UNCLE WIGGILY AND LULU WIBBLEWOBBLE

“My goodness me sakes alive, and some peanut pancakes!” cried Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, as she saw Uncle Wiggily, the rabbit gentleman, out in the yard one day punching some sofa cushions. “What in the world are you doing, Wiggy?” asked Nurse Jane.

“Well,” replied the old gentleman rabbit for whom the muskrat lady kept house, “I am trying to make these sofa cushions softer, if you please, Nurse Jane.”

“Softer? What for?” she asked.

“So they will be easier for me to fall on, in case I have any accidents when out riding in my airship,” replied Uncle Wiggily. “You see, I am sort of shaking up the feathers inside the cushions, by punching them with my paws. Not to hurt them! No, indeed, not for the world would I hurt the feathers,” cried the rabbit gentleman.

“So that’s why you are punching the cushions?” asked Nurse Jane, as she folded her long tail around her neck to keep the mosquitoes from biting her. “Well, all I have to say is, Wiggy, that you never will make your cushions soft that way.”

“No?” asked Uncle Wiggily, sort of surprised like.

“No, indeed,” answered Nurse Jane. “The trouble is that you need more feathers in the cushions. That will make them nice and soft for you to fall on in case your airship turns a somersault.”

“Good!” cried the old rabbit gentleman. “I am glad you mentioned it. I will take a ride over to the Wibblewobble duck penhouse at once, and have Mrs. Wibblewobble put more feathers in the cushions. That will make them lovely and soft. Queer, isn’t it, that I should have thought punching the pillows was the proper thing to do—very queer, wasn’t it, Nurse Jane?”

“Oh, well, you are often queer, Wiggy,” she said, calling him that for short. “Once more doesn’t make much difference.”

So Nurse Jane went in the house to give the breakfast dishes their bath, and put talcum powder on them, and Uncle Wiggily started off in his airship for the Wibblewobble duck house to have the old sofa cushions made over, with new feathers inside.

Away he sailed, above the tree tops, in the clothes basket of his airship, with red, white and blue toy circus balloons lifting him, the Japanese umbrella keeping off the sun and the electric fan in the back going around whizzie-izzie, like anything; if you will kindly allow me to say so.

Uncle Wiggily sat on the old sofa cushions, and he did not sail very high up in the air on this trip.

“For,” said the rabbit gentleman to himself, “if I should have an accident, and fall from a great height, I might get hurt, as the cushions are so thin.”

You see Uncle Wiggily always carried these sofa cushions in the clothes basket part of his airship, where he sat to steer it.

Pretty soon he was at the duck house.