The platters, all shiny and white.
Oh, what will they do with the nice oyster stew
If Daddy Fox comes not to-night?”
cried Danny Fox, tears falling from his eyes, as the Policeman
Dog waited for Uncle Lucky’s answer.
“Oh, pshaw,” cried dear kind Uncle Lucky, “let him
go.”
“I say so, too,” said the Yellow Dog Tramp. “That
song reminds me of one my dear old mother used to sing
before I left the farm to become a hobo doggie.”
“Maybe from now on he’ll behave,” cried the Billy
Goat Ferryman. “I have two little kids. I know how
they’d feel if their daddy didn’t come home.”
“Give the old fox another chance,” said the Old Dog
Stagecoach Driver. “I remember my two little bow-wows.
We had a nice home in the country.”
“I feel the same as you fellows,” cried the Big Brown
Bear. “My two little cubs waited every night for me to
tell them a bedtime story. They’re now in the circus, but
I always think of them as little fellows. Let the old fox
go for the sake of his two little boys.”
“Do you hear what they all say?” asked the Policeman
Dog.
“Yes,” whined Danny Fox, and away he ran as soon
as the Policeman Dog took off the handcuffs.
“Perhaps he’ll behave for a while,” said the Old Red
Rooster, flying down from the hayloft. “But it’s lucky
for Little Jack Rabbit that I could call you all on the wireless.
Maybe that isn’t a wonderful invention.”
“Come in and have some carrot cake and turnip tea,”
begged Lady Love, hopping out on the kitchen porch.
Pretty soon as they all sat around the table having a
fine feast, the Yellow Tramp Dog stood up on his hind
legs and barked, oh, so softly:
“I’d go back to my boyhood day
If I only knew the by-gone way.
But I have changed since the Long Ago,
With the summer wind and the winter snow,
And my feet just miss the dear old lane
Where the robin sings his sweet refrain,
And the apple blossoms, white and pink,
Fall in the nest of Bob-o-Link.”
Some day, dear boys and girls, I shall write a story
about the Yellow Dog Tramp. He just sort of rubs his
nose against my knee as I write these stories. Yes, he
looks up at me with big brown eyes that seem to say:
“Tell the children to be kind to yellow dogs.”
Dear children, never, never sling
A stone at any living thing.
The little bird that swiftly flies
Up in the country of the skies,
The friendly tabby cat that purrs
And humps that glossy back of hers,
The patient horse that draws the plough,
The ever-generous mooley cow,
Are all kind friends to you and me,
Created by God’s charity.
BUNNY TALE 14
UNCLE LUCKY’S DREAM
Oh, what shall I sing this lovely spring
When all the sky’s aglow
With the sun’s gold tint and the pure white glint
Of clouds like drifts of snow.
“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.
[Illustration: “I don’t want to speak to him.”]
“Now I guess nobody’ll get in,” he said, seating himself by the
pianola. All of a sudden it began to play;
“Oh, the Grizzly Bear is a dreadful beast,
His claws are sharp and long,
And he gives a tug and then a hug
While he sings a grizzly song;
“‘Oh, I’m the beast with the terrible hug,
G-r-r-r, g-r-r-r-r, G-R-R-R-R!
I can break a stone and crack a bone
And crumple a cracker jar!’”
“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!”
“Make believe there’s no one home,
Stay in bed and do not roam
On your tiptoe ’round the house;
Keep as quiet as a mouse,”
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.
[Illustration: Danny Fox in the patrol wagon.]
“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!
BUNNY TALE 15
THE RADIO STORY
“Well, well, well!” said Uncle Lucky, rubbing his eyes, “that was
a queer dream. The idea of my dreaming I was a boy again, playing
marbles with Uncle John Hare,” and, with a laugh, the old gentleman
bunny jumped out of bed to look out of the window. It was early
morning and the sky was pink and purple, yellow and red. The dew was
sparkling on the grass and the trees were whispering to one another.
All of a sudden “Cock-a-doodle-do!” went the Old Red Rooster over by
the barn. And then a robin began to sing and a little squirrel to
scamper over the grass.
“Heigh ho!” exclaimed dear Uncle Lucky, “what a beautiful world. I
must hurry down to my breakfast and then go for Little Jack Rabbit.
He should be vaccinated. Maybe I’d better call up Dr. Quack, the
famous duck doctor, to find out when he can see us.”
“Hello, Central, hurry, please,
Something’s going to make me sneeze.
Who has filled with pepper up
The little rubber talking cup?”
Ker-choo! ker-choo! went the dear old gentleman rabbit, and before he
could get out his lovely blue silk polkadot handkerchief somebody
laughed outside the window.
[Illustration: “This is Station ABC”]
“Who’s laughing at me?” asked the ex-as-per-a-ted—which means, dear
littlest reader, teased nearly to death—old gentleman bunny, “and who
put pepper in my telephone, I want to know?”
“Ha, ha! ha! ha!” laughed the voice again, just outside the sitting
room window.
With a hop, skip and a jump across the nice rag carpet hopped the
dear old bunny to peek through the curtain. There on the porch rail
sat Jimmy Jay, the mischievous bird boy.
“Ha, ha! ha, ha!” he went again, throwing his head first to one side
and then to the other, “Ha, ha! ha, ha!”
“Get off my porch,” shouted dear Uncle Lucky, “you bad, mischievous,
sneak of a bird boy. Why don’t you play nice games instead of mean
jokes? Get off my porch or I’ll do something to you,” and Uncle Lucky
hopped back across the hall and opened the front door with a swing.
Away flew naughty Jimmy Jay like a flash of blue through the leaves.
“Ha, ha! ha, ha!” he laughed, “how peppery we are!”
“Good gracious meebus!” exclaimed the old gentleman bunny, “that bird
boy is a bad one. If he doesn’t mend his ways I shall report him to
the Policeman Dog. What right has he to come into my house and play
such a trick on me?”
Dear Uncle Lucky was so provoked with Jimmy Jay that he almost forgot
to call up Dr. Quack. But as soon as the mischievous bluebird was
out of sight the kind old gentleman suddenly remembered and, hopping
over to the telephone, shouted:
“One, two, three, S. O. S.
Who is calling? Can’t you guess?”
“No, who is it?” answered a voice.
“Mr. Lucky Lefthindfoot. My nephew, Little Jack Rabbit, should be
vaccinated. Can you come over to the Old Bramble Patch at once?”
“In about fifteen minutes,” replied the famous duck doctor.
Hanging up the receiver, Uncle Lucky hopped out to the garage and,
cranking the Luckymobile, started off for the Sunny Meadow.
By and by, after a while, but not quite a mile, he came to the dear
Old Bramble Patch, in the center of which safe and secure stood the
little bungalow in which Little Jack Rabbit lived with Lady Love, his
bunny mother.
“Honk, honk!” went the Luckymobile horn, and the next minute out
hopped Little Jack Rabbit.
“Has Dr. Quack been here?” asked the old gentleman bunny, taking out
his gold watch and chain.
“He just left,” answered his bunny nephew. “He vaccinated me. Mother
gave me a carrot cent afterwards to buy a lollypop with ’cause I
didn’t make a fuss.”
“You’re a good bunny boy,” said Uncle Lucky, patting the little
rabbit’s ears. “Let’s hop in to see mother.”
Side by side the little rabbit boy and the dear old gentleman bunny
hopped along the path through the thick brambles until they reached
the little bungalow. On the back porch sat Lady Love, the little
rabbit’s mother, shelling peas.
“Well, well, well!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “how busy we are! And how
pretty we look in the blue apron and string of red beads!” Sitting
down on the step, the old gentleman bunny filled his old corncob pipe
with cabbage leaf tobacco and smoked away to his heart’s content.
By and by the little rabbit grew restless. “Let’s listen in on the
radio,” he suggested, tickling dear Uncle Lucky’s ear.
“Come along,” answered the obliging old gentleman rabbit, hopping
into the sitting room.
Professor Crow was just announcing to his radio audience that “This
is Station ABC, Old Crow County, Tall Pine Tree. The first number on
our program is David Cory, the Jack Rabbit Man, who will tell his
famous Little Jack Rabbit stories to the furry and feather-coated
people of the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow. Tune in and let us know
how the story is going over. Step into the Hollow Stump Telephone
Booth and call us up: ‘One, three, five, Sakes Alive; Pine Tree Top,
Lollypop! Here is Uncle Dave.’”
“Hello! boys and girls. Guess where I am. Maybe I’d better tell you
before you grow tired thinking of a million different places. I’m
up in Professor Crow’s tall Pine Tree House. He has asked me to
broadcast a Little Jack Rabbit story. Isn’t that a compliment? Well,
I just guess yes three times and a half. But, dear me! It’s some
job to climb a tall pine house. I’m not as young as I used to be,
but now that I’m up at the top and have brushed off my trousers and
straightened my tie I’ll tell you something nice and true, for it’s
pretty up here under the blue and sunny sky with Merry Sun winking
his big gold eye.
“Goodness me! dear boys and girls, there goes the telephone bell and
Squirrel Nutcracker’s voice is shouting over the wire: ‘Ask Mr. Cory
to put me in the story.’
“‘All right,’ promised Professor Crow, but before I could broadcast a
word the bell rang again.
“‘Busy Beaver talking,’ came over the wire. ‘Ask David Cory to say
something about me.’
“‘All righto,’ answered the old crow, hanging up. But jingle, jingle,
tinkle, tink went the bell before I could wink.
“‘This is the Big Brown Bear talking. Ask David Cory to put me in the
story,’ I heard him say, and then Professor Crow answered, ‘I’ll see
what I can do.’
“‘Hurry up and commence,’ said the worried old black bird, turning to
me. Again tinkerly tink, jingerly jell went that dreadful telephone
bell, and Granddaddy Bullfrog begged to have me mention him over the
wire.
“‘All righto, Mr. Bullfrog,’ answered Professor Crow, but even before
he had hung up the receiver, Chippy Chipmunk was requesting that I
say ‘Hello’ to him.
“‘Goodness me!’ said Professor Crow, ‘if they keep this up there’ll
be no story at all.’
“‘Never mind,’ I answered, ‘I’ll just say hello to everybody. Next
Thursday will be time enough for a story.’”
All of a sudden the little rabbit shouted, “He just said hello to
me!” and the next minute, “He just said hello to you!”
“Did he?” asked dear Uncle Lucky. “Well, that is kind of him,” and as
the radio talk was now over the two bunnies hopped into the kitchen.
“What have you for supper?” asked dear Uncle Lucky.
“Stewed lollypops!” answered busy Lady Love, placing a steaming dish
upon the table. “Nice fresh lollypops. The Big Brown Bear was here
yesterday.”
“Did he ask for me?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“To be sure,” replied Lady Love, “I told him that Uncle Lucky was
coming to-day.”
“Yes, I’ll stay here for a while,” laughed the old gentleman bunny,
picking up a big juicy yellow lollypop by the stick, just the way
people eat asparagus. But, oh, dear me! down ran the juice all over
his nice clean napkin. Wasn’t that a shame?
“Goodness gracious meebus!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky, “that was a very
ripe lollypop!”
Just then his small rabbit nephew brought his spoon down on the table
with a whack.
“What’s that?” shouted the old gentleman bunny, dropping the
lollypop stick on his little left hind toe, the one with the
rheumatiz, you know.
“A mosquito tried to sting my ear!” cried the little bunny boy,
carefully lifting the spoon to peep underneath, “Where did he go?”
“If you would catch a skeeter
You must be lightning quick.
My name is Skeeter Peter
And I’m on to every trick,”
sang a squeaky, buzzy voice.
“Did you hear that?” asked Lady Love.
“No, but maybe I’m getting a little deaf,” sighed dear Uncle Lucky,
tucking a clean napkin under his chin and picking out a fresh
lollypop.
“There goes Skeeter Peter out of the window,” shouted his small
nephew bunny.
“Catch him!” cried the old gentleman rabbit, hopping over to the open
window. But, oh, dear me! The Old Red Rooster, who was raking up the
leaves on the lawn wasn’t quick enough, and away flew Skeeter Peter
to the Old Duck Pond where Mrs. Skeeter Peter was waiting at the door
of their tiny house in the long grass.
“Dear me! I’m all out of breath,” sighed dear Uncle Lucky, sitting
down in the rocking chair by the open window to read the _Bunnybridge
Bugle_. After a while he fell asleep and dreamed he was a boy again
and had sent a pretty valentine to a lovely bunny girl.
BUNNY TALE 16
DANGER
[Illustration: “My, but it’s growing cold!”]
“It’s growing cold! I must turn up my coat collar,” said Little
Jack Rabbit, hopping out on the Sunny Meadow. He had just finished
polishing the front doorknob and maybe his little pink nose was
pinker than usual. Maybe Jack Frost had pinched it when the little
bunny boy wasn’t looking.
It certainly was cold out on the Sunny Meadow! Billy Breeze was
romping over the frosty grass, bending the leafless bushes and trees.
Turkey Tim strutted about the Old Barnyard, spreading his big tail
like a Japanese fan.
“Although the sky is clear and blue,
Oh, dear me and oh, dear you!
How cold and chilly Billy Breeze.
He makes me shiver at the knees!”
sang Cocky Doodle trying to pull down his feather knickerbockers. But
he couldn’t. Neither could he pull up his feather stockings. Dear me!
again. Wasn’t that too bad? Well, I should say so, although I’ve seen
lots of little boys and girls with bare legs in the winter time.
“Bow wow!” went Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, tugging at his chain,
as Little Jack Rabbit hopped around the Big Red Barn.
“Bow, wow, wow!
It makes me laugh
To see Mrs. Cow
Spank her calf.”
“Now, that will do,” said Mrs. Cow, quite provoked, “it’s so long
since you were spanked you’ve forgotten you were once a puppy boy
dog.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, “now will you be good, Old
Sic’em?” But the old dog crept into his little wooden house with
never an answer.
Just then Little Jack Rabbit spied Old Man Weasel under the woodpile.
“Oh, dear me!” said the little bunny to himself, “what shall I do?”
“Don’t be frightened,” chirped little Bobbie Redvest from the Old
Rail Fence. “Old Man Weasel won’t dare show himself for here comes
the Big Kind Farmer.”
Sure enough, there he stood with a milk pail on his arm. So away
hopped Little Jack Rabbit to the Old Duck Pond to see Granddaddy
Bullfrog, the nice old gentleman frog in his white waistcoat and gold
rimmed spectacles.
“I’ll soon be going down to the warm mud at the bottom of the pond,”
said the old fellow, with a shiver. “I can’t stand this snappy
weather. Guess I’ll start now,” and with a dive off his log, he
disappeared beneath the water.
“Good-by!” called out the little bunny boy, hopping home to the warm
little bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch.
The next morning the Sunny Meadow was as white as Lady Love’s best
tablecloth and just as smooth, for it had snowed all night, the
snowflakes falling so softly that no one had even dreamed of what was
happening.
After breakfast Little Jack Rabbit pulled on his nice warm mittens.
“Don’t forget your muffler,” warned his careful mother. Then filling
his knapsack with little lettuce flour cakes, she kissed him good-by.
As he hopped along he began to sing:
“Three little bunnies a-sliding went
All on a winter’s day.
The ice was thin and two fell in,
And the third one ran away.”
“That’s a fine song,” cawed Professor Crow from his Tall Pine Tree
house.