Little Jack Rabbit's big blue book

sounded the wake-up song of the musical alarm clock.

Out of bed hopped Little Jack Rabbit and in a few minutes he was ready for breakfast—nice carrot porridge with lettuce cream, turnip toast and a stewed lollypop. After he had polished the front door knob, fed the canary and filled with kindling the woodbox behind the kitchen stove, he kissed Lady Love good-by.

“Do be careful!” cautioned his pretty bunny mother, smoothing the blue bow at his little white throat. “Do be careful. Danny Fox is everywhere.”

“Don’t worry,” answered the little rabbit bunny boy, and away he hopped down the winding path through the brambles. Pretty soon he came to the Sunny Meadow, through which the Bubbling Brook gurgled and laughed until it splashed into the Old Duck Pond.

The Sunny Meadow was brown and barren. No lovely flowers smiled at the little rabbit as he hopped along. A few dry leaves scurried by as Billy Breeze whistled merrily.

all of a sudden shouted Professor Crow from a treetop.

“Oh, thank you!” answered the happy little rabbit, politely. “I’ll go right down to the Three-in-One Cent Store for a lollypop ice-cream cone.”

On the way he heard Squirrel Nutcracker scolding Chatterbox, his red squirrel cousin.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the little rabbit.

“Nothing but trouble,” replied the old gray squirrel. “Chatterbox tried to steal into my store house.”

“I did not!” answered the little Red Squirrel. “I only peeked in through a knot hole.”

“Let’s play a game of tag! You’re it!” shouted the bunny boy, clapping his paw on Chatterbox’s shoulder.

My, what a scamper after that! Over the fallen logs, across the Bubbling Brook and under the Old Rail Fence raced these three little people until, all of a sudden, they almost bumped into the Billy Goat Stage Coach.

shouted Little Jack Rabbit.

“Whoa!” cried the Old Dog Driver, pulling in the billy goats right in front of the little bunny. “Stand still, Butter! Quiet now, Bouncer!”

“All right, I’m in,” called out the little rabbit, looking up through the open window at the good bow-wow driver.

“Gid-ap!” shouted the Old Dog, clicking his tongue on his long white teeth, and cracking his whip over the heads of his prancing billy goats.

Away went the Billy Goat Stage Coach, rattlety bang, over the bumps and over the stones till it almost crackled the bunny boy’s bones.

Pretty soon the Old Dog Driver shouted:

“Carrot City—Next stop, Turnip Town!”

“Wait, wait!” squeaked an old lady Pig, waving a green umbrella.

“Hurry up!” growled the Old Dog, “I’m five minutes behind time.”

“Where are you going?” asked the breathless lady Pig, as the polite little rabbit latched the coach door.

“Turnip Town, m’am,” he answered, opening his knapsack to slip in his little red-striped candy cane.

“Going for a visit?” enquired the inquisitive lady Pig.

“No, m’am,” replied the little rabbit. “Just going for a candy chocolate mouse.”

“Be careful, the peppermint cat might catch it,” said the lady Pig with a squeaky chuckle.

“Dear me!” sighed the little bunny, “is she as fierce as the farmer’s black cat?”

“Not quite,” answered the talkative lady Pig.

Just then the coach stopped and in hopped Daddy Longlegs. He wore a long linen duster and carried a cotton umbrella on his arm.

“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed, “if my dear little friend isn’t on board.” And, sitting down by the little bunny, he enquired all about the folks at home.

“Mother’s well,” answered the little rabbit. “She always wears two pink roses, one on each cheek.”

“How’s Uncle Lucky?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” laughed the bunny boy.

“Turnip Town!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Dog Driver, and out jumped the little rabbit boy to buy his chocolate mouse.

“Dear me!” he sighed, as he hopped out of the candy shop, “I must hurry home,” and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip to the Shady Forest.

By and by, not so very far, a dreadful howl sounded close at hand. Dear me! before poor little Jack Rabbit could hop away somebody grabbed him by the throat.

“Ha, ha, ha! Now I’ve got you!” chuckled a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Wicked Wolf dropped the little frightened bunny boy into a big empty gunny sack. Then, throwing it over his shoulder, he started off for his den in the Shady Forest.

“Ha, ha, ha!” again chuckled Mr. Wicked Wolf, “what a nice dinner Mrs. Wolf and I will have to-night!”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “mother will never again see her little bunny boy come hopping up the path in the Old Bramble Patch.”

“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mr. Wolf, as he hurried along with the poor little rabbit.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the poor little bunny boy, all alone in the sack on the back of the big wicked wolf, “what shall I do, what shall I do? I’m a goner. Yes, I’m a goner, just as sure as

Poor Little Jack Rabbit! all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

Just then a little voice from the treetop whispered: “Haven’t you a knife in your pocket, little rabbit?”

It was Bobbie Redvest’s voice, so low and sweet that Mr. Wicked Wolf, who was old and deaf, never heard a word.

“Oh, oh, oh!” thought the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little knees going clitter, clatter and his little heart pitter, patter, “I wonder if I have?” And he looked through his pockets one by one, his little pink nose trembling with fright just like a star on a frosty night. At last, oh joy! and a catch of his breath; he found his knife in the little handkerchief pocket of his coat.

Then he waited all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

There! It came again, the little voice from the treetop:

All a-tremble, the little rabbit opened his knife and made a slit in the bag, oh, so qui-et-ly.

Then, thrusting out his head, he was just going to hop away, when the little voice from the treetop whispered:

“Wait—a—minute.”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “I don’t want to wait. I want to get away.” But he minded the little voice, and it was mighty well he did, for just then Mr. Wicked Wolf stopped short and said, “Gee whiskers, I’m getting tired. I guess I’ll sit down on this old log.” And down he sat, letting the sack slip to the ground. Taking out his old corncob, he filled it with tobacco and, scratching a match on his furry trouser leg, commenced to smoke.

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

Out jumped the little rabbit, but as he was about to hop away, oh, dear me! again the little voice from the treetop whispered:

“Wait—a—minute.”

“Oh, oh, oh!” sighed the little bunny, “I don’t want to wait. I want to get away!” But he minded the little voice from the treetop.

“Pick up—that stone—and slip—it in—the sack—oh,—so—care-ful-ly.”

And the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little heart a-pitter-patter and his little knees a-clitter-clatter, picked up the stone and slipped it in the sack, oh, so care-ful-ly.

“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,

“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.