Little Jack Rabbit's big blue book

“Well, well, well,” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky with a sigh, laying down his book, “that is a beautiful poem.” Pushing his spectacles back on his forehead, he was just about to sigh again when the telephone rang, One, two, three! Jingle, jingle, jingle!

“Who’s that, I wonder?” he asked himself, taking up the receiver.

“Hello, hello! Who’s calling me?

“This is Rabbitville, one, two, three.”

“Mr. Grizzly Bear is talking,” answered a deep, growly voice.

“Well, I don’t care if he stops,” replied brave Uncle Lucky, “I don’t want to speak to him.”

“But he wants to talk to you!” answered the deep, growly voice.

“Dear Little Miss Mousie,” sighed Uncle Lucky, “why do disagreeable people call me on the ’phone? Why don’t they call up the Policeman Dog? Please lock the kitchen door.” And the poor old gentleman rabbit gave a great big sigh and, hanging up the receiver, hopped quickly around the house to lock every window, pulling down the shades and then stuffing up the fireplace with sofa cushions.

“Now I guess nobody’ll get in,” he said, seating himself by the pianola. All of a sudden it began to play;

“Goodness me!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hopping up. “It’s bad enough to have a Grizzly Bear call you on the ’phone, but to listen to a Grizzly Bear song on the pianola is too, too much,” and the dis-tract-ed old gentleman rabbit hopped upstairs to his bedroom and looked out of the window.

“Tooty fruiti!” shouted Old Barney Owl, just like that, so frightening poor Uncle Lucky that he closed the window with a bang and hopped into bed. But, dear me! again. No sooner had he pulled the coverlet up to his chin and tucked his long gray whiskers in, than a dreadful knocking shook the door and rattled the carpet tacks in the floor!

“Goodness gracious meebus!” whispered the old gentleman rabbit under his breath and under the crazyquilt over his head as he cuddled down tight in his old wooden bed.

Again some one knocked on the door so hard that the doorknob came off and fell in the yard.

“Who can that be? What shall I do? I’m afraid to open the door and I’m afraid not to. Which is the worst to do, for whatever I do, it will be that, all right, and all wrong!”

whispered a little voice.

“Who gives me such good advice?” asked the old gentleman rabbit in a trembly whisper.

“Little Miss Mousie,” replied the tiny voice. “I crept out of my house and up the stairs to tell you to make believe you’re not at home.”

“You’re a good little friend,” answered Uncle Lucky.

“You’re a good big friend,” laughed Little Miss Mousie, only very low, of course. “You let me stay all winter in the woodbox by the warm stove. You never charge me any rent and never let me spend a cent, you give me lollypops to eat and satin slippers for my feet.”

“Do I really? I forgot all about the slippers, I declare,” cried the old gentleman rabbit, scratching his left hind ear with his right hind foot. “Maybe I’m growing old and full of forgetfulness,” and he sighed twice, and maybe three times more.

Just then the knocking came again, and this time louder than the last time, and twice as loud as the first.

“Keep your temper,” whispered the little mouse.

“I guess that’s the only thing I’ve got left,” cried poor Uncle Lucky. “I’ve lost my wits—I declare, I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t do anything,” advised the little mouse, “that’s what you agreed to do just a minute ago.”

But goodness me! as she finished speaking there arose a dreadful commotion in the backyard of Uncle Lucky’s little white house. Dear me, it was tornadeous and hurricaneous.

Please excuse me a moment. There’s so much noise I can’t even think what might happen if the Policeman Dog doesn’t arrive pretty soon and swing his club three or four times.

There it goes! Yes, sir, I thought I’d hear it soon, if not before. Yes, it’s the Policeman Dog’s whistle.

Out of his nice warm bed jumped Uncle Lucky and over to the window. The moonlight shone in like an automobile lamp, almost blinding Little Miss Mousie by the door. For a moment it made the dear old gentleman rabbit wink his eyes and blink his nose.

“Goodness gracious meebus! What is that big black shadow under the trees?” he whispered.

Then all of a sudden, the whistle sounded again, only this time way off down the road.

“What is the matter?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, his legs trembling so that his pajamas wrinkled at the knees. “What is the matter, and what is that dark shadow under the trees, and why is the Policeman Dog whistling down the road? Why doesn’t he whistle under my window and make me feel comfortable?”

But no one answered him. Not even Little Miss Mousie, for she had hopped down to the kitchen to peek out under the door. Pretty soon the sound of the whistle came again, this time a little bit louder. After another minute or two, it sounded again, only fainter.

“Dear, dear me, I’m so sorry for myself,” cried the poor old gentleman rabbit. “All this mystery is turning my hair white. What shall I do?”

“I’ve caught him! I’ve caught him!” all of a sudden a voice shouted, and the next minute into the yard ran the Policeman Dog with Danny Fox by the collar.

“Here’s the robber who knocked on your front door,” cried the noble police dog.

“Put him in jail for a century!” shouted Uncle Lucky from his bedroom window. “I want my great, great, great, great grandchildren never to be annoyed by this old robber!”

“I’ll speak to the Judge about it,” answered the faithful Policeman Dog, as he drove away with Danny Fox in the patrol wagon.

“Oh, I’m so relieved,” sighed the old gentleman rabbit, “I’ll now go back to bed and sleep till the little green rooster toots his horn at half past three to-morrow morn,” and, hopping into his pink pajamas, he pulled the crazy quilt up to his chin and tucked his whiskers snugly in.

Well, sir, and well, m’am. No sooner was the old gentleman rabbit sound asleep than the Dream Fairy looked in at the window.

“I must give Uncle Lucky a pretty dream,” and softly flying in, she lighted on the foot of the bed. Taking from her little Vanity Bag a blue rose she waved it to and fro, back and forth and up and down, till Uncle Lucky began to dream.

And what a lovely dream! Just wait till I tell it to you, dear boys and girls, for maybe when he wakes up he’ll forget all about it, as some people do, even as you and I.

The dear old gentleman rabbit dreamed that he was a boy again, playing marbles with Uncle John Hare when, dearest me and dearest you! along came Mrs. Wild Cat.

“Meow, meow, meow!” she said. “Let me play with you.”

Uncle John Hare looked at Uncle Lucky, and then they both looked at the Wild Cat. But what was the use of looking at her, or at each other, or at anything, for that matter. Goodness me! they were so frightened that their knees played tick tock, tick tock, and their hair stood up straight, and if ever there were two scared little rabbits, it was Uncle John and Uncle Lucky.

“What’s the matter with you two bunnies?” asked Mrs. Wild Cat. “Come, give me a shooter.”

“Here, here’s—one!” gasped Uncle John.

“You—can—have—mine,” faltered Uncle Lucky, “I’m tired. My thumb’s sore.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” meowed Mrs. Wild Cat. “Come on and play!”

But, oh, dear me! The two poor little bunnies missed every time and as Mrs. Wild Cat won every time, pretty soon she had all the marbles, as well as Uncle Lucky’s little bag and Uncle John’s little box.

“What else have you?” asked the purring Wild Cat.

“Nothing,” answered the bunny boy rabbits, “nothing, only a piece of chocolate cake and a lollypop.”

“Give them to me,” said the purring Wild Cat!

So what could each little bunny boy do but put his hand in his pocket and slowly draw out, Uncle John, the cake, and Uncle Lucky, the lollypop.

“Ha, ha, meow!” cried Mrs. Wild Cat, “don’t they look good. I love chocolate cake and lollypops, ice cream cones and pink gumdrops.”

“Please don’t take everything we have,” cried Uncle Lucky, tearfully.

“Give us back our marbles,” begged Uncle John Hare, with a sob.

“No, I want to take them home to my little kittens,” answered Mrs. Wild Cat, reaching out her paw for the lollypop.

“Wait just a minute, the stick has come out,” begged Uncle Lucky, leaning over to pick up the candy part. All of a sudden, just like that, he struck out with his strong hind feet, throwing the loose dirt into Mrs. Wild Cat’s eyes, and before she could open them the little rabbits had hopped into a hollow stump.

“Meow, meow! Just wait till I wipe my eyes. I’ll show you what I’ll do,” Mrs. Wild Cat screamed.

But, wasn’t it lucky? by that time the two little bunnies had found a tunnel leading away from the hollow stump. On and on they hopped until by and by, after a while, they found themselves out on the Sunny Meadow.

“Whew, I’m glad to be rid of that dreadful cat,” exclaimed Uncle Lucky.

“So am I,” said Uncle John Hare. “But, dear me! we’ve lost our marbles!”

Just then who should come along but Sic’em, the farmer’s dog. Of course in those days, when Uncle Lucky was a little boy and Uncle John Hare only a week older, Sic’em was a young dog. Oh, my, yes! And could run so fast that often his shadow was left a mile behind him!

“Bow, wow, now I’ll catch you two little rabbits,” he barked, when—wasn’t it a relief? the old gentleman rabbit woke up with a start to find that he had been dreaming. But he didn’t see the Dream Fairy as she flew out of the window. No, siree! Dear Uncle Lucky was hardly wide awake enough for that!