“Well, I’m going to have a good time now,” thought the little rabbit to himself. “I’ve learned my daily lesson. I’ll call up Uncle John.” So off he hopped to the Hollow Stump Telephone Booth.
“What number do you want?” asked the telephone girl who was a little wood-mouse.
“One, two, three, Harefield,” answered the little rabbit, and in less than five hundred short seconds, he heard his Uncle’s voice over the wire.
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Mr. John Hare, “I thought you’d forgotten all about your old uncle. Where are you?”
“I’m in the Hollow Stump Telephone Booth,” answered the little rabbit.
“I’ll come right over to the Old Bramble Patch,” said Uncle John, and the old gentleman hare dropped the receiver on his left hind toe he was so excited. You see, he hadn’t heard from his little bunny nephew for so long that he supposed he had enlisted in Uncle Sam’s Army or Aunt Columbia’s Navy! Well, anyway, as soon as the little rabbit had paid the little wood-mouse five carrot cents, he hopped home to tell his mother that Uncle John Hare was coming over to supper.
TO THE POST OFFICE
“
Billy Breeze, please blow no more
The leaves around the kitchen door.
It takes my time till ten fifteen
To make the doorstep nice and clean,”
said Little Jack Rabbit the next morning after he had polished the front doorknob and fed the canary and filled the woodbox in the kitchen with kindling wood.
Oh, my, yes, he was a busy little rabbit. He had to help his mother in lots of ways, especially when Uncle John Hare was making a visit at the Old Bramble Patch.
Well, when the little rabbit had done all these things, his mother asked him to go down to the post office and buy her three War Savings Stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette for Uncle John, who had a touch of rheumatism in his left hind toe and didn’t feel like hopping around, but preferred to sit in an armchair on the back stoop where it was warm and sunny.
Now, as Little Jack Rabbit hopped along, he met Chippy Chipmunk under the Big Chestnut Tree, so of course he stopped and said good morning.
“Where are you going?” asked the little Chipmunk. And when he found out, he took two twenty-five carrot cent pieces out of his pocket and asked the little rabbit to buy him two Thrift Stamps.
“All right,” said the little bunny, dropping the two quarters in his knapsack, and by and by, not so very far, he met Squirrel Nutcracker.
“Where are you going?” asked the old gray squirrel.
“Down to the Post Office,” answered the little rabbit.
“Will you buy me a dollar’s worth of Thrift Stamps, please,” said Squirrel Nutcracker. So the little rabbit tucked the lettuce dollar bill in his waistcoat pocket and hopped along. And pretty soon, not so very far, he met Busy Beaver. He was plastering the top of his little mud house and was dreadfully busy, but when he heard where Little Jack Rabbit was going, he put his little muddy paw in his pocket and took out a fifty cent piece.
“Please buy me two Thrift Stamps, I’ve no time to go to the village. I must finish my house before the frost comes.”
The little rabbit put the fifty cent piece in his knapsack and hopped along, and by and by Parson Owl, who sat winking and blinking in his Hollow Tree House, called out to the little rabbit as he hopped over the dry leaves:
“Hey, there! Where are you going?”
“Down to the Post Office to buy stamps!”
“Will you buy me ten dollars’ worth if I give you the money?” asked the winky, blinky old owl. Goodness me; it will take another story to tell what happened after that.
MORE STAMPS
Now let me see. We left little Billy Bunny on his way to the Post Office to buy Thrift Stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette. And, oh dear me! I’m all mixed up. I can’t remember whether Timmy Chipmunk gave the little rabbit ten dollars or whether Old Parson Owl did. Or whether the Squirrel Brothers wanted two stamps, or whether it was Busy Beaver who wanted three, or maybe four and perhaps five. Oh dear me again!
But never mind. I guess the little rabbit wasn’t mixed up, for he hopped along as happy as you please, and just before he came to Rabbitville, he heard a voice in the treetops say:
“Where are you going, little Hoppity Hop,
You’re going so fast maybe you can’t stop.”
“Oh, yes, I can,” answered Little Jack Rabbit. “What do you want?”
“That depends on where you are going,” said Professor Jim Crow, for it was the old blackbird who had stopped the little rabbit, you see.
“I’m going to the Post Office to buy Mother Three Thrift Stamps and Uncle John the Rabbitville Gazette, and let me see. Oh, yes; oh, yes. Chippy Chipmunk gave me two quarters to buy him two Thrift Stamps, and Squirrel Nutcracker handed me a lettuce dollar bill to buy him four, and Busy Beaver gave me a fifty-cent piece to buy him two, and Parson Owl just now pinned in my inside pocket a ten-dollar lettuce bill to pay for forty stamps.”
“I wonder what he wants so many stamps for?” said Professor Jim Crow. “Why doesn’t he buy a Liberty Bond?”
“Maybe he wants to give them away,” answered the little rabbit. “But I mustn’t stop—I must be going.”
“Wait, wait,” said Professor Jim Crow. “Here’s some money. Buy me ten Thrift Stamps,” and he handed over a two and one-half dollar lettuce bill. “Don’t lose the half,” added the wise old crow, and then he flew up into his old pine tree and cawed away right merrily. And after that the little rabbit hopped along and when he came to the Post Office, he went up to the little stamp window and asked the old maid grasshopper, who was the postmistress, you remember—but if you don’t, she was, just the same, for Bobbie Redvest told me so—if there were any letters. But there was only the Rabbitville Gazette done up in a pink wrapper and yellow two-cent stamp.
“Have you Thrift Stamps?” asked Bunny Boy. And when the lady grasshopper said yes, he told her just how many he wanted, for he could remember everything, you see, which is more than I can, let me tell you, unless I look back over this story. And after he had put the stamps carefully in his knapsack with little pieces of wax paper between so that they wouldn’t stick together, he started back for the Old Bramble Patch. And in the next story, if all those stamps don’t get angry and try to lick each other, I’ll tell you what happened after that.
BUSY TIMES
When Little Jack Rabbit finally reached home with the stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette, he found his Uncle John singing at the piano this lovely song:
The Autumn leaves are falling
Along the Woodland ways,
In scarlet, brown and yellow coats
These cool November days.
They rustle by the Old Rail Fence,
They whisper in the lane,
Or from the shivering half-clad trees
They sing a sad refrain.
But Mrs. Rabbit was too busy putting up carrot preserves and lettuce pickles to even listen. All the little people of the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow were getting ready for Winter.
The little feathered people were pruning their wings for a long flight to the warm Southland, and the four-footed folk were gathering nuts and grain for their storehouses.
The Squirrel Brothers had a bushel of nuts, and maybe more, laid away carefully in the old chestnut tree, and Chippy Chipmunk had filled his underground storeroom with nuts and corn.
Granddaddy Bullfrog was almost ready to dive into the Old Duck Pond to hide in the soft warm mud. Teddy Turtle, too, would soon find for himself a nice warm spot on the mud bottom of the mill pond before Jack Frost touched the water with his icy fingers.
And Mr. John Hare had telephoned to the Old Red Rooster to come over and put up Mrs. Rabbit’s storm-door and bank the cellar windows with dry leaves.
“Mother,” said Little Jack Rabbit, as he polished the brass doorknob, “I guess Jack Frost will soon be around.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” she replied, “but who’s afraid of Jack Frost? Danny Fox and Mr. Wicked Weasel, to say nothing of Hungry Hawk, are more to be feared.” And that good lady rabbit began her ironing, for it was Tuesday, the day when all Rabbitville irons Monday’s wash, I’m told.
Just then Bobbie Redvest began to sing:
The summer time is over,
And all the golden hours,
No more the roses crimson bloom
Amid the garden bowers.
The little birds have left their nests
And now are strong of wing,
They will not build themselves a home
Until the lovely spring,
But fly away to Southern lands,
Where warmth and sunshine reign,
They cannot brave the winter wind,
The snow drifts in the lane.
And little four-foot furry folks
Will safely hide away,
And sleep until the winter’s past
And Spring has come to stay.
AN ACCIDENT
Well, after Uncle John Hare had spent about a week at the Old Bramble Patch, he thought it time to go home. So he called up his house and ordered his Bunnymobile sent for him.
“Now don’t worry about Little Jack Rabbit,” he said to the anxious lady bunny, “I’ll take good care of him and send him home safe and sound.”
Then he put on his goggles while the little rabbit cranked up the Bunnymobile, and off they went.
You see, Uncle John was so fond of his little rabbit nephew that he just had to take him out for a drive.
But, goodness me. They had gone only a little way when they ran into a load of hay. And, oh dear me! It tumbled down on top of them and hid the Bunnymobile from sight. Wasn’t that dreadful?
Well, I don’t know what would have happened—they would have been smothered or had hay fever, I guess—if a big Circus Elephant hadn’t come hurrying along just then.
Well, sir! He wound his trunk around that pile of hay and put it back on the wagon. Then he dropped in his pocket the nickel the farmer gave him, but he wouldn’t take the carrot cent that grateful Uncle John offered him.
“I’m so nervous you’d better drive,” cried the old gentleman hare. So Little Jack Rabbit took the wheel and for a little while everything went along nicely. But pretty soon it grew dark, so the little rabbit hopped out to light the lamps. But when he struck a match he found that the lamps were smashed to pieces. You see, they had hit the back of the hay wagon.
“What shall we do?”
“Get in and go along the best you can,” answered the old gentleman hare. “We ought to be pretty near home by this time.” And I guess they would have reached his little red house in a few minutes if the Policeman Dog hadn’t stopped them.
“What do you mean by running your Bunnymobile without lights?” he growled. “I’ll fine you ten bones!”
“Make it carrots and I’ll pay you,” said Uncle John.
But the Policeman Dog wouldn’t take carrots. You see, he liked bones much better. Then he jumped on the running board and told them to drive to Station House No. 13.
But wasn’t it lucky? They had gone only a little way when they came to a butcher shop, where Uncle John traded ten carrots for ten bones. And when he gave them to the Policeman dog, he told them they might drive home slowly.
But, oh dear me. All of a sudden a big owl gave a hooty toot. No sooner did the two little rabbits hear that dreadful noise than they hopped out of the Bunnymobile and into a hollow stump. “You’ll be safe, now,” said a little grasshopper from her Clover Patch House, nearby.
TWO PIGEONS
Well, I’m going to tell you right away that the two little rabbits got safely home, although they had to hide all night in the hollow stump from the old owl. But the grasshopper stayed in the clover patch and built a little house with a front-door latch.
Well, as soon as they had run the Bunnymobile in the garage, they went into the little red house, and had breakfast. After that was over Little Jack Rabbit said good-by and hopped off home to the Old Bramble Patch. And while he was hopping along who should come by but old Professor Jim Crow with his little Black Book.
“Helloa there, little rabbit,” said the wise old bird, and then he opened his little Black Book and, turning to page 23, he said:
“Let me read you something about pigeons.”
“Why?” asked the little bunny, wiggling his little pink nose so fast that old Professor Jim Crow’s eyes filled with tears, and he had to take off his spectacles and wipe them with his silk pocket handkerchief.
“Because,” answered the old crow, “two pigeons have made their home in the loft of your mother’s old barn.” Then he put on his spectacles again and commenced to read aloud:
“Pigeons always lay two eggs, and these produce a male and a female, so they are mated from birth, and, could they remain so, they would be the happiest of winged beings.”
And then the old professor closed his book and said, “Better hurry home and see the new pigeons.” So away hopped the little rabbit, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, over the Sunny Meadow until, by and by, after awhile, he came to the Old Bramble Patch. There stood his mother in the backyard. She had just placed a pan of water under a tree for the pigeons.
“Don’t make any noise,” she said, as the little rabbit drew near. Pretty soon Mr. Pigeon flew down to taste the water, and by and by Mrs. Pigeon fluttered down by his side.
“Cock-a-doodle-do,
Of pigeons we have two,
But some day there’ll be dozens more
A-cooing by the old barn door,”
sang the old Red Rooster who had come over from Uncle John’s to help Mrs. Rabbit weed the carrot patch.
After that she and her little bunny boy hopped up on the front porch to hear the canary bird in her gold cage sing:
“I wouldn’t be a pigeon
And live in an old red barn,
I’d rather be here when the weather is drear
And watch Mrs. Bunny darn.”
Which made the kind lady rabbit laugh, for she spent lots of time, let me tell you, darning the holes in her little bunny boy’s golf stockings.
MISS PUSSY
The pumpkins in the cornfield
Are as yellow as can be,
And the apples, red and golden,
Are hanging on the tree,
The grapes in purple clusters
Are swinging on the vine,
And the old crow’s nest is empty
Upon the lonely pine.
“Ha, ha,” shouted Little Jack Rabbit, as Billy Breeze blew across the Sunny Meadow, and, let me tell you, Billy Breeze was just a little bit chilly, this cool November morning.
“I wonder what I’ll do,” thought the little rabbit, and he wiggled his little pink nose sideways, and then off he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, and by and by he came to an old hollow stump. So he peeked in, and then, all of a sudden, a purring voice asked:
“What are you doing, Mr. Curious One?”
“Oh, I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” answered the little bunny. “I just wanted to see what was inside.”
“Well, I’ll show you,” answered the voice, and out popped a little black cat, with green eyes and a pink ribbon.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Pussy,” laughed the little rabbit. “I’m glad it wasn’t a bear or a wildcat,” and he laughed some more and wiggled his little pink nose just for fun, you understand.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for mice,” answered the little black pussy.
“Don’t you bother Timmy Meadowmouse,” said Little Jack Rabbit quickly; “he’s a friend of mine.”
And then, what do you suppose happened? Why, the Farmer’s dog came by, and away went the little rabbit, and up went Miss Pussy Cat’s back, and her tail grew so big that had she tried to get back into the hollow stump I guess she would have had to leave her tail behind her! But she didn’t. No sireemam. She just humped her back and meowed, and the Farmer’s dog kept right on after Little Jack Rabbit, but of course he never caught him.
Well, as soon as the little bunny was safe in the Shady Forest, he looked about him, and pretty soon, not so very long, he saw Professor Jim Crow with his little Black Book under his wing.
“Read me something, won’t you please,” begged the little rabbit. So the old professor bird took out his book and turned over the pages until he came to “The early worm must look out for the bird.”
“Ha, ha,” laughed the little rabbit. “I must tell that to mother. She always tells it the other way ’round.” Then off he hopped, and the old black bird flew away to his tree in Kalamazoo. For that was the name of the little village where Professor Crow has his home, and where he taught in the grammar school arithmetic and the Golden Rule, and sometimes Latin and sometimes Greek, and anything else that a bird can speak. Goodness me, if my typewriter hasn’t made up this poetry all by itself. I wonder where it went to school.
A BUSY BEAVER
“Bunny Boy!” called Little Jack Rabbit’s mother, oh, so early, as Mr. Merry Sun climbed up the blue gray sky of the early morning, “Get up, little bunny!”
So the little rabbit hopped out of bed; and after he had combed his hair with a little chip, he ran downstairs to ask his mother about the early worm Professor Jim Crow had mentioned in the last story. After breakfast he hopped out on the Sunny Meadow and looked about him. Mr. Merry Sun was shining down on the frosty dew and Billy Breeze was very chilly, and the meadow grass brown and withered. It didn’t look at all like the lovely Sunny Meadow.
“Oh, dear,” sighed the little rabbit, “all the flowers are gone, and most of the birds have flown to the sunny South.” Just then Professor Jim Crow flew by with his little Black Book under his wing:
“Helloa, there, little bunny, how are you this chilly day?” And then that old crow began to read out of his little book:
“Little rabbit’s coat of brown
Soon will turn to white.
Then among the snowy drifts
He can hide from sight.
“You see how Mother Nature looks after you,” said that wise old blackbird. “In the summer your coat is brown like the dry grass and brambles. But when winter comes it turns white so that you won’t be seen so well against the snow.”
Then away flew Professor Jim Crow to read his little Black Book to somebody else, and the little rabbit hopped along and by and by he came to the Bubbling Brook where the speckled trout swam in and out among the rocks and the little fresh water crabs played in the quiet pools. All of a sudden down fell a tree.
“There,” said Busy Beaver, “I’ll now have some logs to make a dam.”
“Why do you want a dam? Do you want to spoil the Bubbling Brook?”
“It won’t spoil the brook,” answered the little beaver. “It will only make it deep so that when I build my house for the winter my front door won’t freeze up tight.”
“Oh, I see,” said Little Jack Rabbit, and he wiggled his little pink nose sideways. “And how soon will you have it finished?”
“Oh, long before Old Mr. North Wind brings the snow,” answered Busy Beaver.
Old Mr. North Wind
On his Snow Horse,
Swiftly is riding
Down the golf course,
Over the meadow
And up the steep hill,
Shouting so hoarsely;
“Gid ap, there, Bill!”
DON’T WORRY
In the last story Little Jack Rabbit, of Old Bramble Patch, U. S. A., was talking to Busy Beaver, who was making a dam across the Bubbling Brook, you remember, to keep the water from freezing up his front door in the cold winter time.
“Every one is getting ready for the cold weather. It won’t be long before my dam is finished and then I’ll set to work and make my house of mud and sticks,” and Busy Beaver jumped into the water with a flap of his broad tail and disappeared. So the little rabbit hopped along, and by and by he came to the cave where the Big Brown Bear made his home.
“Helloa!” said Little Jack Rabbit, as the Big Brown Bear looked out of his front door. “Winter time will soon be here.”
“Oh, that doesn’t worry me,” said the Big Brown Bear.
“But what will you eat?” asked the little rabbit.
“When you’re asleep you don’t feel hungry. On a warm sunny day I may come out for a little while and find something to eat. I don’t worry.”
Worry never makes you fat,
Instead, it makes you lean.
Never worry for a minute,—
Worry has the devil in it,—
Keep your mind serene.
And if you don’t know what “serene” means, take your father’s dictionary and look up, for the more words you know the wiser you’ll grow.
“Well, I don’t have to worry about the cold weather,” laughed the little rabbit. “Mother Nature will give me a new white fur overcoat, and the Old Bramble Patch will keep the wind away, and the cabbage leaves which mother and I have stored away will last all winter.” And then away he went to see more of his friends in the Shady Forest.
Well, by and by, after a while, he heard the honk of an automobile horn. “I wonder whether that’s Uncle John,” and Little Jack Rabbit stopped and looked all around, and pretty soon, not very long, Mr. John Hare drove by in his Bunnymobile. He looked very fine in his polkadot handkerchief and gold watch and chain and a great big immense diamond horseshoe pin in his pink cravat. Oh, my, yes! Uncle John was quite a dandy. He was the best dressed Hare in Harebridge, and why shouldn’t he be when you consider he was President of the bank and the Harum Scarum Club!
“Helloa, there, little nephew,” he shouted.
“Hop in and take a ride with me,
We’ll take a spin for a mile or three,
And maybe we’ll come where the lollypops grow,
Pink and yellow, all in a row.”
THE LITTLE FROSTY PAINTER
There’s a little frosty painter
Who soon will come around
To put a silver edging on
The grasses on the ground,
Upon the window pane he’ll paint
A fairy landscape, strange and quaint,
And some cold morning you’ll awake
To find he’s frosted Mother’s cake.
Now can you guess who this little frosty painter is? Why, it’s Jack Frost, the son of King Winter.
“Ha, ha,” crowed the Weathercock on the Big Red Barn. “Jack Frost is here, for I can see the silver frost upon the grass in the Sunny Meadow,” and then that gilded rooster turned his head to the North and blew on his gilt toes to keep them warm.
Pretty soon Old Sic’em walked out of his little dog house and shook himself. “Bow wow,” he said, “it’s a chilly morning.”
“Cock-a-doodle-do,” said Cocky Doodle, and then Henny Penny cackled loudly:
“I’ve laid an egg so white and clean
’Twould grace a breakfast for a queen.
But if a little girl should beg
The farmer for my pretty egg,
I’d tell him quick to let her go
And take my egg as white as snow.”
As the little hen finished her song, she noticed Little Jack Rabbit by the Old Rail Fence.
“Helloa, Mrs. Henny Penny,” he said. “I like your song. If I see any poor little girl I’ll tell her!” and then the little rabbit hopped away, for he just couldn’t stay a moment in one place, let me tell you. He wanted to be on the hop, skip and jump all the time, just like lots of little boys and girls I know.
Well, by and by, after a while, he saw Old Professor Jim Crow scratching his head with his claw.
“What’s the matter?” asked the little rabbit.
“I can’t make out something I’ve written in my little Black Book,” answered the old black bird, and he scratched his head again and looked dreadfully perplexed, which means worse than worried, you know.
“Let me look,” said Little Jack Rabbit. And when the old blackbird had flown down from his pine tree, the little bunny leaned over his shoulder, and read: “Oh, oh, oh, Squirreltown!”
“Why, that’s the Squirrel Brothers telephone number,” he laughed. “So it is,” said Professor Jim Crow. “I’m so glad you told me! Let’s call them up!”
“‘One, three, five, Chestnut Hill!’
Keep on ringing, Central, till
Some one answers, ‘Hello! who
Is calling up my Bungaloo!’
“But if no one says a word;
Not a twitter from a bird,
Nor a chatter comes your way,
Call again another day.”
GRANDPA POSSUM
But! gracious me! Central gave Little Jack Rabbit the wrong number, for as he stood in the Hollow Stump Telephone Booth, with the receiver to his ear, he heard Grandpa Possum say:
“I don’t care how hard it snows,
Nor how Old Mr. North Wind blows,
For I’m as safe as safe can be
In a big warm hole in the old nut tree.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the little rabbit, hopping out of the booth, just as Grandpa Possum poked his head out of his hollow tree house, “you certainly look sleepy. What made you wake up?”
“What woke me?” asked the possum gentleman angrily. “Why, those good for nothing Squirrel Brothers threw a snowball into my window.” And then Grandpa Possum shook the snow out of his left ear and looked around to find those naughty squirrels.
All of a sudden, quicker than a wink, another snowball hit the old hollow tree a tre-men-dous whack.
“Goodness me!” said Grandpa Possum, “if I ever catch those pesky squirrels I’ll make them wince, yes, I will, as sure as I’m twenty-one!”
And he began to grin, for Grandpa Possum is full of good nature and never can stay angry very long.
“If you’re good natured, every one
Will love you more and more,
So don’t get mad, be always glad,
And lend a helping paw,”
sang Grandpa Possum, winking at Little Jack Rabbit, as Squirrel Twinkle Tail peeked out and said:
“Excuse me, Grandpa Possum,
For throwing snow at you,
’Twould be too bad to make you mad
Or just a little blue.”
And then he and his mischievous brother Featherhead ran away and didn’t bother Grandpa Possum for a long time.
“Well, I guess I’ll be getting along,” said the little rabbit and he hopped away and by and by he came to the Shady Forest Pond where Busy Beaver had his home. But of course he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. No, siree. He was in his little mud hut whose roof stuck up above the ice and whose cellar door was way down deep where the water was free from ice and he could swim in and out as he pleased.
So the little rabbit didn’t wait, but hopped along until he came to the edge of the forest, when he started to hop across the Sunny Meadow to the Old Barn Yard where Henny Penny and Cocky Doodle lived all the year ’round. But just then he heard the supper bell. So, instead, he hurried home to be in time for Aunt Jemima’s angel cake.
COUSIN CHATTERBOX
Little Jack Rabbit loved the snow that covered the ground with a soft white carpet. His feet never grew cold. No siree, they didn’t. All the little Forest Folk liked the snow, for Loving Mother Nature had given them warm fur, and warm fur laughs at cold just as love laughs at troubles.
Even Mrs. Grouse was happy. And if you’ve forgotten why, I’ll tell you again. It was because dear Mother Nature had given her a pair of snow-shoes. Yes, indeed. The skin had grown out between her toes until she could walk as nicely as you please over the snow. And what is more, Loving Mother Nature had taught her to dive into a snowbank where she could stay for the night as snug and warm as you please, when Old Mr. North Wind blew upon his chilly horn.
Neither did Squirrel Nutcracker care that the ground was covered with snow, and he could find no more nuts. He had a supply hidden safely away in the old hollow chestnut tree. But he did mind having other people take them. And when his cousin, Chatterbox, in his red fur coat, tried to break into his storehouse, Squirrel Nutcracker was as mad as mad could be.
“Whoever steals a nut from me
From out my storehouse in this tree,
A friend of mine shall be no more,
So let him stay outside my store.”
Chatterbox grew very angry as he peeped down from the chestnut tree and saw Little Jack Rabbit with a big smile on his face. It told the naughty red squirrel that the little rabbit knew whom the little gray squirrel meant.
But when Little Jack Rabbit opened his knapsack and took out a lemon lollypop, you should have seen those two squirrels forget all about their quarrel and scramble down the big chestnut tree. Yes, sir. Squirrel Nutcracker forgot that Chatterbox wanted to steal his nuts, and Chatterbox forgot that he had been caught! And now that I come to think it over, perhaps that is the reason the little bunny laughed just before he opened his knapsack! I guess he knew how quickly those two little squirrels would forget everything when they saw a lemon lollypop!
“Now promise me one thing to-day,
You little squirrels, red and gray,
That you will quarrel nevermore
Nor steal a nut from any store.
For he who steals will always end
In having neither love nor friend.”
Now don’t you think it wonderful that the little rabbit could make up such lovely poetry? Well, I do, but the two little squirrels thought what he does in the next story even more wonderful.
But you must not impatient get,
If mother says, it’s growing late.
Just wait until another time,
And kiss good-night your Auntie Kate.
JIMMY JAY
Now just as I finished the last story Little Jack Rabbit handed Squirrel Nutcracker and Chatterbox each a lovely lemon lollypop. I would have told you that before, only I had no more room, so I had to wait. But it’s a good thing the little Squirrels didn’t have to wait, isn’t it?
Well, after the lemon lollypops were all gone, the little bunny went upon his way, hipperty hop, lipperty lop, until he saw Jimmy Jay on the Old Rail Fence.
Now you know that Jimmy Jay is a very mischievous little bird. Yes, sir, he certainly loves to tease. Grandmother Magpie is mischievous, too, but she’s no worse than little Jimmy Jay. She does harm by meddling and Jimmy Jay by teasing.
Yes, it certainly is too bad that such a pretty bird as Jimmy Jay should cause so much trouble. Why, his coat’s as blue as the summer sky when Mr. Merry Sun is shining at his best.
“Hip, hip, hurray,
I’m Jimmy Jay,
And I’m proud of my coat of blue.
Go on your way,
I’m Jimmy Jay,
I’ve no time to talk to you.”
“You’re too fond of yourself, Jimmy Jay,” said Little Jack Rabbit, and he wiggled his pink nose till the little Jay bird almost fell off the rail. You see, Little Jack Rabbit had the habit of wiggling his nose so fast that it made everybody dizzy to look at it.
“Mother says it’s not the clothes
You wear that make you good;
It’s having a contented mind
And doing what you should.”
Then away hopped the little rabbit, leaving Jimmy Jay to think it over. Perhaps it kept that mischievous little Jay Bird from looking at himself in the Bubbling Brook. Or maybe it was because it was all frozen over with a thick coat of ice.
Well, anyway, the little rabbit hopped along for maybe a mile or maybe less, until he came to a little hole in snow, when, all of a sudden, out popped Timmy Meadowmouse. You see in the winter time, Timmy Meadowmouse makes little tunnels under the snow, and every once in a while, here and there, he climbs up a stiff stalk of grass and pokes out his head to look around. And wasn’t he glad to see the little rabbit. Well, I just guess he was. But if he had seen Danny Fox instead he wouldn’t have been so pleased. No sireemam. And in the next story, if the little meadowmouse doesn’t play hide-and-seek in the snow till that sly old fox comes around, I’ll tell you what happened after this.
THE TIP OF A TAIL
Now let us see—oh, yes, I remember now. We left off just when little Timmy Meadowmouse poked his head up through the snow and said, “Helloa!”
“Howdy, Timmy Meadowmouse,
Through the chimney of your house
Looking o’er the meadow white,
Glancing round from left to right,
You might lose your woollen socks
If ’t weren’t I, but Danny Fox,”
laughed Little Jack Rabbit, kicking up his strong hind legs until a big snowball hit Timmy Meadowmouse, knocking the hat off his head into a snowbank.
“Look out! What are you doing,” cried Timmy Meadowmouse. “That’s the new hat Mother gave me for Xmas.” Pretty soon he began to laugh, too, for he’s a merry little fellow and a good friend.
“My, but it’s lonely these long winter days,” sighed the little bunny. “Everybody’s sound asleep in his winter home. Only you and I and a few others are about,” and the little rabbit sighed again, for what he says is true, let me tell you.
For in the good Old Summer time
’Most everybody’s round,
The feathered folk are in the trees,
The furry on the ground.
And all the sweet and verdant dells
Are ringing with the flower bells.
“Cheer up, little rabbit,” said the merry little Meadowmouse, “spring will soon be here. The buds on the trees are waiting for little Miss South Wind to open them,” and after that the little meadowmouse disappeared into his tunnel and the little bunny hopped away, clipperty clip, over the snow till he came to the Shady Forest. And after he had gone in a little way, not so very far, he saw something that made his heart go pitter, pat. And what do you suppose it was? I’ll give you three guesses and then I’ll tell you. The footprints of Danny Fox. Yes, sir! Right there in the snow were the marks of that sly old fox’s feet.
Little Jack Rabbit stopped right then and there to look about him. But Danny Fox was nowhere in sight, but that was no reason why he might not be, at that very moment, hiding behind a tree. The little rabbit looked again at the footprints in the snow. There they were, but, thank goodness! They led away, far away, into the Shady Forest. Just then, all of a sudden, the Miller’s Boy jumped out from behind a clump of bushes.
“Run! run!” screamed Jimmy Jay, who happened by just then. And the little rabbit did. He went so fast that his shadow couldn’t keep up with him and neither could the Miller’s Boy. But, oh, dear me! The Miller’s dog did. Yes, sir! He kept so close that before he popped into the Old Bramble Patch he caught the end of the little rabbit’s tail.
OLD BARNEY OWL
Well, I’m mighty glad the little rabbit lost only the fur tip to his tail. That was bad enough, but he forgot all about it the next morning when the Squirrel Brothers invited him over the ’phone to meet them at the Shady Forest Pond. He spent no time at all getting out his skates, but his mother took two minutes and a half tying a woolen muffler around his neck. She knew, like all wise mothers, that it’s lots more fun to skate when one is nice and warm.
When he reached the pond the Squirrel Brothers were already there, skating merrily over the ice.
Busy Beaver in his winter home below could hear them whirring along, cutting fancy figures in the ice, and calling merrily to one another.
After a while, when the little rabbit and the squirrel brothers had grown tired of skating, they ran over to make a call on Old Barney Owl, who lived in the Big Chestnut Tree on a small island, right in the middle of the pond.
Although it was now pretty late in the afternoon, the old gentleman owl was still asleep, and when he opened the door, his eyes winked and blinked, and at first he didn’t know them at all. In fact, he shut the door right in their faces. I suppose he thought they had knocked just to wake him up. Perhaps they had, for when the door closed with a bang they all began to laugh.