It was necessary for Bumper to show a certain amount of firmness with his
newly-made friends, and when he finally emerged from the hollow branch
again he made a little speech to the birds.
"If you don't mind, dear friends," he said, "I must ask you to stop
plucking me any more. I really can't afford to lose my fur. It's all the
protection I have from the rain, and when winter comes I'll need it to
keep me warm."
"But a few hairs to line my nest with won't hurt you," pleaded Mrs.
Phoebe Bird.
"No," replied Bumper firmly, "if I let you have some I must do the same to
all the others, and I don't want to offend Towhee the Chewink or Mr.
Crested Flycatcher or any of the others. I want to be friends with all of
you."
The justice of this was recognized by all the birds, and they decided not
to press the question; but they were voluble with their expressions of
admiration.
"I never saw such beautiful pink eyes before," remarked Piney the Purple
Finch.
"Nor such snow-white fur," added Mr. Pine Grosbeak.
"I never knew there was such a thing as a white rabbit in the world," said
Rusty the Blackbird.
Bumper could not feel other than puffed up by such remarks, but he tried
to hide it from his new friends.
"Are all the rabbits in the woods brown or gray, then?" he asked. "I
should like to see them. Do they live around here?"
"Yes," replied the Purple Finch, "but they're very much frightened and
keep to their burrows since Mr. Fox came here to live."
"I should like to find them," sighed Bumper. "The fact is, I'm lonesome,
and a little bit homesick. I'm not used to the woods, and I should dearly
like to find some of my brown cousins so they could teach me things."
"I shouldn't think you needed much teaching," laughed the Red-Headed
Woodpecker, tapping the limb with his powerful bill. "Any rabbit that can
escape from Mr. Fox and climb a tree as you did must know a great deal."
The other birds nodded their heads at this remark, and Bumper looked
pleased at the compliment to his shrewdness.
"Still," he said, "I'd like to meet my country cousins."
"If I see any of them," Rusty the Blackbird replied, "I'll tell them about
you. They'll be surprised to know of your coming."
The rest agreed to carry the news to the wild rabbits when they saw them,
and Bumper knew that he would soon find his country cousins. He felt that
he would be welcome, and safer with them. There were so many puzzling
things about the woods that, in spite of his self-confidence, he was often
embarrassed.
This conclusion was further impressed upon him very forcibly a few hours
later. When he was certain that the fox had left the vicinity for good, he
crawled through his tunnel to the ground, and began feeding on the wild
grasses, leaves and strange plants that grew so thickly in the woods.
Most of the plants were new to him. He hardly recognized any of them. Some
were sweet and juicy, and others were so bitter that one taste was enough.
No one could help him in the selection of his food, and he had to trust to
his instinct.
But instinct isn't always a safe guide when one is not familiar with his
surroundings. Now just what plant it was that disagreed with him Bumper
never knew. His little stomach was so full of leaves and plants that when
he first began to feel sick and giddy he thought it was due to overeating.
"I'll just lie down in the shade now and rest," he said. "Then when I feel
better I'll hop around and find a place to spend the night."
This was a wise decision, but it wasn't a cure. Something he had eaten
clearly disagreed with him. Instead of growing better he felt worse the
longer he rested. In time he was feeling so sick and giddy that if Mr. Fox
had appeared he would have made short work of Bumper. His groans soon
attracted the birds, and they flew to where he was lying and asked him the
trouble.
"I'm dying, I think," moaned Bumper. "I must have eaten some poisonous
plant, and I know I'm dying."
The birds were startled by this information, and they held an immediate
consultation.
"It's perhaps true what he says," remarked Mrs. Phoebe Bird. "He's eaten
some poisonous plant."
"If we only knew what it was," added the Pine Grosbeak, "we might help
him. There's an antidote for every poison."
"Yes," assented the Purple Finch, "but not knowing the kind of poison, we
can't prescribe the antidote."
"Why not," suggested the Crested Flycatcher, "give him all the antidotes,
and then we're sure to give him the right one."
Rusty the Blackbird laughed out loud at this suggestion. "Why," he said,
"we'd stuff him so full of antidotes that he'd die anyhow. No, I think
we'd better see Mr. Crane."
"What could he do? He's no kind of a doctor," indignantly remarked Mrs.
Phoebe Bird. "The idea of calling him in!"
Rusty, who was a jolly, rollicking bird, winked, and added: "No, he isn't
much of a doctor, it's true, but he's got one medicine that nearly always
works. I'll go fetch him."
During the dispute that followed, Rusty slipped away, and before the
argument had reached a climax, he returned, accompanied by Mr. Crane.
"Now, Dr. Crane," said Rusty, smiling and winking, "see what you can do
with the White Rabbit. I told you what ailed him. He's eaten too much of
something that disagrees with him."
"Then I can cure him," gravely replied Dr. Crane, approaching Bumper's
side. The other birds crowded around to see what he would do. The
appearance of Mr. Crane in the role of a doctor was a new one to them, and
they were curious to see how well he would acquit himself.
"Let me see your tongue," Mr. Crane said solemnly.
Bumper stuck out his tongue obediently, for he felt so sick that he didn't
care what happened to him.
"That's good! Now I must look down your throat. Open it wide."
Bumper readily complied, and Mr. Crane looked down it.
"Now hold it open," Mr. Crane continued. "Don't close it until I tell you.
I won't hurt you."
Then to the surprise of Bumper and all the birds, he inserted his long,
slender bill down the throat as if he intended to pull something out of
it. But he had no such intention. He simply twisted the bill around
gently.
Bumper felt a tickling sensation in his throat, and he wanted to gag, but
the bill prevented him. The tickling went on for some time until Bumper,
in spite of himself, began to gag and retch. Then, as suddenly as Dr.
Crane had inserted his bill in the throat, he withdrew it.
But Dr. Crane had accomplished his purpose. The tickling in the throat had
started Bumper to vomiting, and all his dinner, including the poisonous
plant, came up with a rush. It made him weak and faint, but the pain in
his stomach was relieved, and when he was through he looked up and said
faintly: "Thank you, Dr. Crane, I feel much better."
And Rusty the Blackbird, flapping his wings, crowed with delight: "What
did I tell you! Dr. Crane carries an antidote for every poison in his
bill! But it's a bitter medicine sometimes."