LITTLE MISS FUZZYTAIL
Foolish questions waste time, but wise questions lead to knowledge.
--Peter Rabbit.
“Little Miss Fuzzytail!” Peter said it over and over again, as he sat on
the sunning-bank in the far corner of the Old Pasture, where Tommy Tit
the Chickadee had left him.
“It's a pretty name,” said Peter. “Yes, Sir, it's a pretty name. It's
the prettiest name I've ever heard. I wonder if she is just as pretty.
I--I--think she must be. Yes, I am quite sure she must be.” Peter was
thinking of the soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind
the big fern, and of the dainty little footprint he had found there
afterward. So he sat on the sunning-bank, dreaming pleasant dreams and
wondering if he could find little Miss Fuzzytail if he should go look
for her.
Now all the time, although Peter didn't know it, little Miss Fuzzytail
was very close by. She was right back in her old hiding-place behind the
big fern, shyly peeping out at him from under a great leaf, where she
was sure he wouldn't see her. She saw the long tears in Peter's coat,
made by the cruel claws of Hooty the Owl, and she saw the places where
her father, Old Jed Thumper, had pulled the hair out with his teeth. She
saw how thin and miserable Peter looked, and tears of pity filled the
soft, gentle eyes of little Miss Fuzzytail, for, you see, she had a very
tender heart.
“He's got a very nice face,” thought Miss Fuzzytail, “and he certainly
was very polite, and I do love good manners. And Peter is such a nice
sounding name! It sounds so honest and good and true. Poor fellow! Poor
Peter Rabbit!” Here little Miss Fuzzytail wiped her eyes. “He looks so
miserable I do wish I could do something for him. I--I--oh, dear, I do
believe he is coming right over here! I guess I better be going. How he
limps!”
Once more the tears filled her soft, gentle eyes as she stole away,
making not the least little sound. When she was sure she was far enough
away to hurry without attracting Peter's attention, she began to run.
“I saw him talking to my old friend Tommy Tit the Chickadee, and I
just know that Tommy will tell me all about him,” she thought, as she
scampered along certain private little paths of her own.
Just as she expected, she found Tommy Tit and his anxious little wife,
Phoebe, very busy hunting for food for six hungry little babies snugly
hidden in a hollow near the top of the old birch-stub. Tommy was too
busy to talk then, so little Miss Fuzzytail sat down under a friendly
bramble-bush to rest and wait, and while she waited, she carefully
washed her face and brushed her coat until it fairly shone. You see, not
in all the Old Pasture, or the Green Forest, was there so slim and trim
and neat and dainty a Rabbit as little Miss Fuzzytail, and she was very,
very particular about her appearance.
By and by, Tommy Tit stopped to rest. He looked down at Miss Fuzzytail
and winked a saucy black eye. Miss Fuzzytail winked back. Then both
laughed, for they were very good friends, indeed.
“Tell me, Tommy Tit, all about Peter Rabbit,” commanded little Miss
Fuzzytail. And Tommy did.