Little Jack Rabbit's big blue book

sang Lady Love, as she rocked the cradle in which lay Little Jack Rabbit.

Out in the kitchen Old Mrs. Bunny, who had come over for the day, was baking cabbage cake and Mr. Rabbit was reading in the Bunnybridge Bugle a story about the new baby rabbit in the Old Bramble Patch.

“Look, mother!” cried the proud rabbit father, turning the paper toward the good lady bunny.

“Well, I declare!” she exclaimed. “There’s his picture as sure as I’m a grandmother and you’re my son.”

Yes, sir! On the front page was a picture of Little Jack Rabbit, and underneath, in big purple letters:

“A new arrival at the Old Bramble Patch. Lady Love has a baby boy bunny. Carrot City, Bunnybridge, Lettucemere and Turnip City papers please copy.”

“It makes me as proud as a peacock to see it in the paper,” laughed Mr. Rabbit. “And to think that Little Jack Rabbit will soon be old enough to hop about the Sunny Meadow and through the Shady Forest.”

Just then in came Timmie Meadowmouse to see the new little bunny boy.

“Little Jack Rabbit is asleep,” explained his careful father. “Why didn’t you come early this afternoon? You ought to know, Timmie Meadowmouse, that little bunny babies are asleep by this hour.”

“What time is it?” asked the little Meadowmouse “I left my watch home.”

answered the cuckoo from her little clock house.

“There! It’s six o’clock. You’d better look out for Hungry Hawk. You should be home by this time,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit.

“Can’t I have a peep at your little bunny?” asked the tiny meadowmouse, holding his cap in his left paw as he turned the brass doorknob. “I want to tell the Sunny Meadow People I’ve seen him.”

“Come along, then, on your tiptoes,” answered Mr. Rabbit, leading the little meadowmouse to the bedroom where the bunny baby lay sound asleep.

“S-s-s-s-h!” whispered Lady Love from the rocking chair close by, as Timmie Meadowmouse stood on his hind legs to peep into the cradle.

“He’ll be running about in a day or two,” chuckled Mr. Rabbit, as he said good night to Timmie Meadowmouse. “He’ll be out with Uncle Lucky in no time.”

And that’s just what happened a few weeks later when Uncle Lucky, hopping out of his Luckymobile and into the Old Bramble Patch, shouted:

“Where’s that grandson of mine?”

“He’s over at the Barnyard, talking to Old Sic’em,” answered Mr. Rabbit from the front porch.

“Please call him home,” begged anxious Lady Love.

she said, as her bunny boy hopped up to the kitchen door.

“Dear, oh, dear!” answered the truthful little rabbit, “I forgot all about her. But I filled the woodbox and polished the doorknob, Mother dear.”

“Give me the watering can,” said the kind Old Red Rooster. “You attend to Little Miss Canary.

“My, where did you learn to talk in poetry?” asked the bunny boy, handing over the big green watering pot.

“I’ll tell you some day when I have more time,” replied the Old Red Rooster. “Now, mind your mother. Hop along and feed the little birdie!”

Away went the bunny boy, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, to give the pretty canary her breakfast. After which she stood tiptoe on the edge of the porcelain drinking cup, tilting back her head to let the drops of water trickle down her feather-ruffled throat.

“Would you believe it, Little Jack Rabbit is growing so fast we have to call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store twice a week for a new suit of clothes? If he keeps on growing like this he’ll be in long pants before Easter,” explained sweet Lady Love to the old gentleman rabbit.

“Ha, ha!” laughed dear Uncle Lucky. “I remember you grew mighty fast. It seemed I had hardly given you a lollypop rattle when it came time to give you a cherry-stone necklace.”

Just then the Old Red Rooster began to crow:

“Did you ever!” laughed Old Mrs. Bunny from the kitchen door. “One would think the Old Red Rooster was a busy person! He’d rather rest on his hoe and talk to Little Jack Rabbit than weed the garden. My, but he’s a lazy fowl!”

“Never mind,” answered Uncle Lucky, hopping around the little white house. Not far away Little Jack Rabbit and the Old Red Rooster were feeding the pigeons, who had flown down from their pretty house on the top of a tall pole.

“Hey, there, young rabbit!” cried Uncle Lucky. “Don’t pull the tail feathers out of the Old Red Rooster’s swallow tail coat!” You see, Little Jack Rabbit was making believe the good-natured rooster was a horse and he was driving him to the station at Bunnybridge.

“Where have you been?” asked the little bunny.

“Oh, I’ve just come in from a drive,” answered Uncle Lucky. “I had some business to attend to in Carrot City.”

“When are you going to take me for a ride?”

“Wait a little longer till you’re big enough to look out for yourself,” answered wise old Uncle Lucky. “There’s no telling when Danny Fox or Old Man Weasel may pop out from behind a tree. You’re safer here in the Old Bramble Patch for a while yet.”

All of a sudden the Old Red Rooster gave a warning. Quick as a wink into the Little Red Barn hopped the two bunnies, Uncle Lucky first, Little Jack Rabbit next and last, but just as fast, the Old Red Rooster.

Closing the door, they peeped out through a knothole. There in the back yard stood Hungry Hawk.

And, hopping around the barn, that old robber bird peeked in through every crack. By and by he came to quite a large knothole. Oh, dear me, yes! It was big enough for his head, and then it seemed almost large enough for his body.

“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed anxious Uncle Lucky, “I’m afraid that old bird will squeeze in.”

whispered the Old Red Rooster, and the next minute he had crept over on his tiptoes to the tool closet for the big heavy wooden mallet.

Hungry Hawk didn’t notice the Old Red Rooster. No, siree, ma’am! He was too busy pushing and shoving, and shoving and pushing. He surely thought that pretty soon he’d be in the barn, feasting on two nice rabbits and maybe a fat rooster.

How he did squirm and twist and twist and squirm! Dear me! I hope he doesn’t get both his wings through the knothole before the Old Red Rooster can swing the big wooden mallet. Because, if once inside, Hungry Hawk will put up a dreadful fight and maybe get the best of the two little rabbits and the Old Red Rooster.

Dear me! again. I wish I could tell the Kind Policeman Dog over the wireless what is going on in the Little Red Barn. He wouldn’t wait a minute. No, sireemam! He’d come with his hickory stick and knock Hungry Hawk’s tail right off before the Old Red Rooster had time to swing the big wooden mallet.

But there’s no use wishing for things. Just get out and get them! That’s the way. So, here we go! Old Red Rooster, hurry up! And that’s just what he did.

Whack! Down came the wooden mallet on Hungry Hawk’s head. Whew! How mad he was!

Whack! Again the Old Red Rooster tickled the wicked hawk’s head.

“Give him another!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hiding Little Jack Rabbit behind his coat tails. “Hit him again, and three times more!”

Now, let me see. What did Hungry Hawk do after Uncle Lucky shouted to the Old Red Rooster; “Hit him again!” Well, what would you think he’d do? First, he hid his head under his wing; then he tried to squeeze back through the knothole. But he couldn’t, for his feathers turned up at the end and made him bigger than ever.

“I don’t want to break your head,” said the Old Red Rooster. “This wooden mallet is pretty hard. But if you think you’re going to eat Uncle Lucky or Little Jack Rabbit or yours truly, you’ve made a mistake.”

“You bet you have!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “You better go home to Mrs. Hawk and lead a better life hereafter.”

“Dear me! I wish I could,” answered Hungry Hawk, “I’ve got an awful headache. The Old Red Rooster hit me three times with the wooden mallet.”

Just then who should hop into the barn but the Policeman Dog. I wonder how he found out what was going on?

“You wicked bird! I’ve a good notion to shoot you,” he shouted, pulling his gun from his hip pocket.

“Don’t shoot!” begged Hungry Hawk, his tail feathers twitching and his eyes blinking with fright. My, but he was scared. For that Policeman Dog’s gun was a warlike looking weapon, let me tell you. The handle was red and the barrel black and the bullet as yellow as a dandelion.

“I’ll take three minutes to think about it,” answered the Policeman Dog. “But what are you going to do? You can’t get out and you can’t get in, I guess you wish you were thin as a pin.”

Just think of a Policeman Dog making up poetry at a dangerous time like this. Well, I never.

“I’m worried enough to grow thin,” answered Hungry Hawk. “Besides, I’m dreadfully uncomfortable.”

“I’ve got an idea,” suddenly exclaimed wise Uncle Lucky, “I’ll knock out the board. Maybe it will split in two and free the old bird.”

“Please be careful,” begged Hungry Hawk, as the old gentleman rabbit lifted the heavy wooden mallet, “please don’t make a mistake and hit me.”

“One, two, three!” sang out Uncle Lucky, and down came the mallet, whack! against the board. The next minute Hungry Hawk found himself by the woodpile. But, dear me! The board hadn’t cracked open. No, the nails had just pulled out of the Big Red Barn.

All of a sudden the old hawk gave a tre-men-dous squirm and away he flew, with a whirr of wings, above the Sunny Meadow.

“I guess he won’t bother little rabbits for some time,” cried Uncle Lucky. But, children dear, I’m sorry to say, a little further on in the book he does something dreadful.