“WHY DOES A RABBIT WABBLE HIS NOSE?”
How Buddie came to be whisked away from Beavertown to a part of the
wood that, so far as she could tell, she had never seen before, remains
to this day a mystery.
“It was the echo,” she said, in telling me the tale; “you just couldn’t
help looking up.” Certainly it must have been a remarkable echo; and
although it does not explain the matter entirely to my satisfaction, it
is as convincing as any explanation I can offer. But, to go on with the
story:
The Rabbit continued to regard himself in his mirror, wabbling his nose
the while, until Buddie wondered whether he intended to keep it up all
day. But at last he dropped the glass, which was suspended on a cord
about his neck, and remarked, with a little sigh:
“It’s no use. I _can’t_ make it out.”
[Illustration]
Buddie feared to move lest she send him scampering off; rabbits were
such timid creatures--that is, all the rabbits she had ever come upon
before. Still, she wished to talk with him about his funny nose; so
she coughed softly to attract his attention. This is an old trick and
usually succeeds. The Rabbit turned his head, saw Buddie and exclaimed
hurriedly, with a friendly smile:
“Don’t be alarmed, my dear!”
Buddie laughed outright.
“The idea of being afraid of a rabbit!” said she.
“Why not?” demanded the Rabbit, in a tone of offended dignity. “Size
isn’t everything.”
“But rabbits are such scary little things,” Buddie started to say, when
the Rabbit interrupted her.
“I’m not afraid of anybody,” he declared with a little swagger. He
emphasized the last word so significantly, and it sounded so like “any
Buddie,” that Buddie hastened to say:
“I didn’t know rabbits were so brave. I thought--”
“Never mind what you thought,” said the Rabbit, curtly. “It doesn’t
help matters a bit. Always speak twice before you think; then you
won’t make mistakes. Nearly all mistakes are caused by hasty thinking.
Didn’t you ever hear the expression, Bold as a rabbit?”
Buddie shook her head.
“I’ve heard about, Bold as a lion,” she replied.
The Rabbit sniffed.
“Lions? What are they?” he asked.
“I don’t believe there are any around here,” answered Buddie.
“I don’t believe there _are_, either,” said the Rabbit, with a
self-satisfied smile. “But if there were I should teach them their
place fast enough. The expression, Bold as a rabbit, is common
enough--as common as, Wise as a goose, or, Silly as an owl, or, Fast as
a snail, or, Sleepy as a weasel--and it’s a wonder you never heard it.
Why, the word ‘hare-brained,’ or ‘rabbit-brained,’ means, bold to the
point of recklessness.”
“Well,” thought Buddie, “if this isn’t the queerest place anybody ever
got into. Dogs sing, beavers are lazy, and rabbits are bold as lions.
Everything seems to be upside down. What next, I wonder? I suppose,”
she said aloud, “your name is Mr. Bunny Cotton-Tayle.”
The Rabbit bowed.
“And your name?” he asked politely.
“Buddie--just Buddie.” She was afraid he might ask, “Which Buddie?” as
the Laziest Beaver had asked.
The Rabbit again consulted his mirror, and inquired carelessly, as one
inquires who does not expect information:
“You don’t happen to know, I suppose?”
“Why you wabble your nose?”
“Precisely.”
“No,” confessed Buddie. “And I think it’s funny _you_ can’t tell.”
“I don’t see anything funny in it,” said the Rabbit.
“I mean strange.”
“Or strange. Why is a watermelon bald-headed, while a carrot has
whiskers? Answer me that!”
“I don’t know,” Buddie again confessed.
“Did you ever ask a watermelon?”
“Of course not. That’s perfectly ’diculous. Who ever heard of a
watermelon talking? But still,” Buddie added to herself, “if a rabbit
can talk, why shouldn’t a watermelon?”
“Well, ask a watermelon sometime,” said the Rabbit; “or ask a carrot.
Neither of them knows, any more than a dog knows when he’s hot.”
“I’m sure a dog knows when he’s hot,” objected Buddie.
“How do you know when _you’re_ hot?” demanded the Rabbit, with a
this-is-where-I-trip-you-up twinkle in his eye.
“Why, I get hot--I mean I get all sweaty and have to wipe my face and
neck.”
“Exactly,” said the Rabbit. “You know when you’re hot because you
sweat. But a dog doesn’t sweat and can’t sweat. There! What do you say
to that?”
“If my dog Colonel were here,” said Buddie, “I’m sure _he_ could tell
me.”
“Couldn’t,” declared the Rabbit. “Told me so himself, many a time.
Haven’t you noticed that on the hottest day a dog will race round and
run after sticks and stones and go on like mad until he simply drops
from exhaustion? Now, if he could tell when he was hot, as you can, he
would stop long before he gave out. That sort of thing is very wearing
on a dog. That’s why he doesn’t live longer.”
As Buddie had no suitable reply ready the Rabbit continued:
“No, Buddie--I believe you said your name was Buddie?” Buddie nodded.
“It’s so like my own--Bunny. No, Buddie, there are some things about
ourselves we can’t explain, just as there are some things that are
perfectly clear. For instance, I know why I can not run very far in a
straight line, but have to zigzag.”
“Do tell me!” cried Buddie, greatly interested.
“The reason is, my hindlegs are twice as long as my forelegs. After
I run a little way my hindlegs overtake my forelegs, and if I were
to keep on I should be going the other way, which would be extremely
awkward, don’t you think?”
“I should think it _would_ be,” murmured Buddie, to whom the
explanation was by no means clear.
“Why, once when I started for home I was in such a hurry I forgot to
zigzag, and before I realized it I was twice as far from home as when
I set out. So when I am chasing a fox or a panther I have to make up
in speed what I lose in ground. But as for this nose-wabbling,”--the
Rabbit again consulted his pocket mirror and sighed deeply--“_that_
gets me. I give it up. Even Doctor Goose, who knows everything--or
almost everything--can’t explain _that_.”
“The Laziest Beaver said you were going up to The Well to find the
answer,” remarked Buddie, who was very curious to find out what sort of
well it was.
“Yes; I am going up to The Well,” replied the Rabbit. “But I am not the
only one that wishes to learn something. The Guinea-Pig wants to know
why his eyes fall out when you hold him up by the tail.”
“But a guinea-pig hasn’t any tail,” said Buddie, who had owned one, and
was quite sure it didn’t have a sign of a tail.
“I don’t know what sort of guinea-pigs you are in the habit of
associating with,” said the Rabbit; “but all of my acquaintance have
tails, and good long ones. Why shouldn’t a guinea-pig have a tail? A
guinea-_hen_ has.”
“I don’t know why it shouldn’t, but I know it _hasn’t_,” Buddie
persisted.
“Well, here comes the Guinea-Pig now,” said the Rabbit; “and if that
isn’t a tail he’s wearing, I don’t know a tail when I see it.”
Buddie looked around and saw, almost at her feet, the dearest
Guinea-Pig imaginable. She gave a cry of delight and stretched out her
hand to caress it, just as she used to caress her own pet before it
fell victim to a foraging fox.
[Illustration]
Now, Buddie did not mean to do it, but it came about in this way:
startled by her exclamation, the Guinea-Pig turned and made off; Buddie
reached forward eagerly, caught him, and lifted him up--by the tail!
Instantly his eyes fell out.
“There! You’ve done it!” cried the Rabbit.
“I wish people wouldn’t pick me up by the tail,” sobbed the Guinea-Pig.
He couldn’t weep, you see, because his eyes were out.
“Oh, you poor thing!” cried Buddie. And getting down on her hands and
knees, she began hunting for the little creature’s eyes, which had
rolled under the leaves.