Now let’s see what Uncle Lucky is doing this lovely October weather,
when the leaves are red and the pumpkins yellow as sunflowers. My
goodness! what a dreadful time the old gentleman bunny had to keep on
his old stovepipe hat these windy autumn days. No matter how tight he
tied his blue silk polkadot handkerchief over the top and under his
chin every once in a while Billy Breeze knocked it off and rolled it
along the roadside.
“Well, it’s Autumn again and the leaves are all over the front lawn.
I must telephone the old Red Rooster to come over and rake them up,”
sighed dear Uncle Lucky, hopping up to the telephone to call up
“Chickentown, oh, yes, oh, yes,
Ring Happy Bells, Sue and Bess!”
“Who is it?” asked a cock-a-doodley voice.
“Mr. Red Rooster, I want you to rake
The leaves from off my front lawn.
I’ll give you some money and plenty of honey.
Did you say that your watch was in pawn?
Well, never mind that, for I have a watch
Which will tell you when five o’clock’s here.
So come up to-morrow and don’t stop to borrow,
I’ll pay you two dollars a year,”
answered funny Uncle Lucky, winking at Little Miss Mousie.
“All right,” agreed the Old Red Rooster. “I’ll be there to-morrow
at six.” But whether he or Uncle Lucky hung up the receiver first I
don’t know, for I never thought to ask the telephone girl.
“I just hate to have my place look disorderly,” sighed the dear old
gentleman rabbit. “I’m glad that old rooster will be here to-morrow,
although it makes me angry when he leans on his rake for hours at a
time to watch the automobiles go by.”
“Let’s go out to the barn to see the pigeons,” suggested his tiny
mouse housekeeper, curious to peep into the little house which Uncle
Lucky had built on the roof of his old barn.
“I’ll take some corn along,” he said, filling his old wedding
stovepipe hat up to the brim;
“Come, little pigeons, eat up the corn,
I haven’t had time to buy rye,
And you mustn’t care that the store on the square
Has only a fresh apple pie,”
sang dear Uncle Lucky. By and by he hopped back into the house for
his afternoon nap.
Bright and early the next morning, before Mr. Merry Sun had taken off
his cloudy nightcap, the Old Red Rooster knocked on the kitchen door.
“Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!
Please open the door when I take off my hat!”
he sang, after rapping for the umpty ’leventh time. Dear me! Uncle
Lucky was a sound sleeper. I guess he only woke up when his alarm
clock tickled him.
“Wait a minute,” exclaimed the old gentleman rabbit, poking his head
out of the window. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he exclaimed, spying the
old red rooster. “You’ll find the rake in the barn. Start right in to
clean up the lawn. I’ll be out in a minute or three as soon as Miss
Mousie has made the coffee.”
By and by when the Old Red Rooster had raked up a pile of leaves
almost as high as the spur on his right leg, he sat down to rest. All
of a sudden who should come limping along on three legs but Danny Fox.
“Oh, ho!” laughed the Old Red Rooster, although he never would have
so much as smiled had Danny Fox been walking on four legs, let me
tell you. Oh, my no!
“What’s that?” asked Danny Fox, angrily.
“Oh, ho!” repeated the Old Red Rooster, with a loud crow;
“Oh, Danny Fox has but three legs,
He he, ha ha, ho ho!
He walks as fast as a Messenger Boy
And maybe twice as slow.
He’d not catch me if I were tied
To an old green apple tree.
He he, ha ha, ho ho, ho ho,
Ha ha, ha ha, he he!”
Dear me! Wasn’t that old fox angry.
“Nobody likes you, Danny Fox,
You’re wicked and cruel and sly.
You rob the henhouse every time
When there is nobody nigh.
You chase the little rabbits and hares,
And fill them full of terrible scares.
Oh, nobody loves you, Danny Fox,
As you sneak around in your woolen socks.”
“What’s all this noise about?” asked Uncle Lucky, looking out of the
window. But when he saw Danny Fox he closed it mighty quick, let me
tell you.
Dear me, I was dreadfully afraid as Uncle Lucky closed the window
that Danny Fox would catch the Old Red Rooster. But he didn’t. No,
siree and a no, sireeman! His foot was too sore, so he limped away,
saying with an angry snarl, “You just wait. Some day you’ll pay for
the fun you’ve had with me,” which made the Old Red Rooster grow so
pale with fear that when Uncle Lucky peeked out for the third time he
thought a strange white rooster in his front yard was raking up the
fallen leaves.
No sooner was Danny Fox out of sight than Uncle Lucky hopped down to
breakfast.
[Illustration: “Goodness me, this is a dull saw!”]
“Maybe you’d better tell the Old Red Rooster to saw the wood. We’ll
soon need an open fire in the sitting room,” said dear Uncle Lucky to
Little Miss Mousie.
“Goodness me, this is a dull saw!” sighed the lazy old fowl, looking
up at the old gentleman bunny’s pretty mouse housekeeper.
All of a sudden there came a loud knocking. Laying aside the morning
paper and carefully placing his spectacles on the table, the old
gentleman bunny slipped his feet into a pair of old carpet slippers
and opened the door. Who do you suppose was standing on the little
porch? Why, Little Jack Rabbit, of course. He had come all the way
from the Old Bramble Patch to see his dear kind Uncle Lucky, who had
given him a gold watch and chain you remember some three hundred and
umpty-’leven stories ago in one of the Little Jack Rabbit Books.
“Glad to see you,” cried the old gentleman bunny and leading his
little nephew into the parlor, he invited him to sit down in front of
the fire which was blazing merrily on the hearth this cold October
day.
“Oh, the wind will soon be whistling
Around the kitchen door,
And little drafts of chilliness
Across the wooden floor
Will almost take my slippers off
And maybe bring the hopping cough,”
said the old gentleman rabbit. But he didn’t realize he was talking
in poetry. Oh, my no. If he had I guess my typewriter would have
pinned a red rose on the old gentleman’s coat.
“Well, what shall we do?” asked Little Jack Rabbit, being a restless
little bunny who could never sit still in the same place at the same
time for even a little while.
“We can take a ride in the Luckymobile,” answered Uncle Lucky.
“All right, let’s go,” laughed the little bunny, hopping out to the
garage, while the old gentleman rabbit pulled on his boots and tied
his blue silk polkadot handkerchief under his chin and over the top
of his old wedding stovepipe hat so that it wouldn’t blow off when
Billy Breeze blew.
Well, pretty soon, as they rolled along in the Luckymobile as fast as
a comet, or maybe faster, for that Luckymobile could go when Uncle
Lucky was in it. Oh, yes, ah, yes; they saw Danny Fox creeping along
the Old Rail Fence.
“Oh, dear!” cried the little rabbit, “that old robber fox has stolen
a chicken from the good kind farmer.”
“Well, we can’t help that,” answered Uncle Lucky. “Foxes must live
as well as other people, only it’s too bad they can’t eat nuts like
squirrels, or cabbages like rabbits.”
Then all of a sudden the little rabbit had a bright idea. Taking out
his Policeman’s whistle, he blew on it with all his might. And, would
you believe it! that crafty old fox thought the Policeman Dog was
coming and dropped the chicken.
“My, you’re a clever little chap,” laughed Uncle Lucky, when all of a
sudden, three little grasshoppers in a field close by began to sing:
“Oh, dear, oh, dear, what shall we do
Now that sweet summer time is through.
We chirped and hopped all through the day
And spent our time in happy play.
But now the autumn winds are cold,
The little lambs are in the fold,
With woolen overcoats so warm
To keep them safe from chill and storm.”
“Hop into my Luckymobile,” invited Uncle Lucky. “We’ll take you home
to Lady Love. You can live in the kitchen woodbox all winter and when
Spring comes you may hop out and dance on the grass.”
Well, it didn’t take those three shivering grasshoppers long to jump
into the Luckymobile, nor to reach the dear Old Bramble Patch.
“Lady Love! Lady Love!” shouted Uncle Lucky, hopping up the winding
path through the bushes.
“What is it?” asked the pretty lady bunny, opening the kitchen door.
How she laughed when she saw them all, Uncle Lucky, Little Jack
Rabbit and the three Little Grasshoppers. But when the old gentleman
rabbit had explained how shivery cold the grasshoppers were, and how
he had brought them for a visit, the dear little bunny lady invited
them into the kitchen to warm themselves by the stove. After poking
the fire, she put on the kettle and set the table with apple pie and
lollypops.
“Three grasshoppers sat down to eat,
Heigh-ho and two pink gumdrops!
They had apple pie and grains of wheat,
Heigh-ho and three lollypops.
And what did they have to drink,
Well, let me stop to think.
Ice cream soda and turnip tea
And then they were as happy as happy could be,”
sang the pretty Canary Bird.
And that’s how the Three Little Grasshoppers first came to spend the
winter in Lady Love’s bungalow.
BUNNY TALE 20
VALENTINES
“The rose is red, the violet blue.
Oh, how I love a rabbit stew,
I love it most as well as you,”
wrote sly Old Danny Fox on the Valentine he sent to the big fat hen
at the Farmyard. She was so pleased the next morning, thinking that
Cocky Doodle had sent it, that she called him over to her nest to
show him the nice white egg she had laid on St. Valentine’s Day. Of
course he didn’t know she thought he had sent the valentine, so off
he went to the Three-in-One Cent Store to buy her one, all covered
with lace and gold hearts.
As he passed Uncle Lucky’s white house on the corner of Lettuce
Avenue and Carrot Street he heard the old gentleman rabbit calling
from the window to the Yellow Dog Tramp, who took care of the
Luckymobile in the winter time:
“Come here, you good old yellow dog,
And see my valentine.
It makes me feel quite young again
Although I’m fifty-nine.”
“Who sent it?” asked the Yellow Dog Tramp.
“Goodness gracious meebus! How do I know?” answered excited Uncle
Lucky. “You never know who sends a valentine.”
All of a sudden the telephone bell rang.
“Hello, who’s this?” asked the old gentleman rabbit.
“It’s me, Little Jack Rabbit. Did you get your valentine?”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit, and the next minute he
shouted through the window: “Little Jack Rabbit sent it.”
“I wish I were back in old Vermont,
Safe from worry and harm,
But it’s many a day since I went away
From my home on the dear old farm,”
answered the Yellow Dog Tramp sadly, wiping his eyes as he trotted
into the garage to polish the Luckymobile.
Pretty soon dear Uncle Lucky hopped out of the front door and
down the road to Rabbitville, where he bought a valentine at the
Three-in-One Cent Store for his little rabbit nephew. Then quickly
hopping over to the Old Bramble Patch, for it was getting late and
Mr. Merry Sun would soon be in bed in the purple west, the dear old
gentleman rabbit tip-toed up to the front door of the little bunny’s
house and dropped the valentine on the mat. Then, ringing the bell
three times and a half, he quickly hid behind the rain barrel.
“Hurrah! Somebody’s sent me a valentine,” shouted Little Jack
Rabbit, looking all around to see who had left it. But no one was in
sight, except Charlie Chickadee picking dried berries off a bush.
“Did you leave this valentine?” asked the little bunny.
“No,” chuckled Charlie Chickadee, “but I know who did,” cocking his
head on one side and winking his eye nearest the rain barrel.
“Who did it, then?” asked Little Jack Rabbit.
“If I should tell you I much fear
That Mr. Lefthindfoot would hear
And hop around the big rain barrel
To end my pretty little carol,”
answered Charlie Chickadee. And away flew that naughty little bird,
and none too soon, to dodge a snow ball that Uncle Lucky threw at him
from behind the rain barrel. But it didn’t hit him, oh, my no! But it
hit Old Danny Fox who was peeping through the brambles. Yes, siree,
that’s what it did!
“Ha, ha! I’m glad Charlie Chickadee made me angry,” chuckled dear
Uncle Lucky, and the next moment he laughed so hard that one of the
pearl buttons on his pink waistcoat flew off and hit the end of the
old fox’s tail as he hurried away. Wasn’t that wonderful? Well, I
just guess it was. But perhaps you don’t know that Uncle Lucky was a
good shot and had once pitched on the Rabbitville baseball team.
“I’m glad to be home in time for lunch,” said the old gentleman
rabbit, as he opened his kitchen door. “I’m as hungry as two bears
and three wildcats.”
“Home again, home again,
Where it’s nice and warm.
Home’s the nicest place to be
When it’s going to storm.
Let the lightning flash and dart,
Let the thunder roar;
What care we when safe at home
And bolted is the door?”
sang his tiny mouse housekeeper.
“You are right, Little Miss Mousie,” answered dear Uncle Lucky, “but
how do you know it’s going to rain?”
“Because,” answered the little mouse, “I heard Willie Wind say just
now to the Weathercock: ‘I’m going to bring up a big black rain
cloud, so put on your mackintosh and rubbers.’”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit. “If the Weathercock puts
on a mackintosh I’ll put on my bathing suit,” and funny old Uncle
Lucky hopped into the sitting room to read the _Bunnyville Bugle_
while Little Miss Mousie set the table.
“Let me in,” all of a sudden cried a little voice at the window pane.
When the old gentleman rabbit opened the window who do you suppose
was outside? Why, a little white pigeon—one of Uncle Lucky’s pigeons,
you know.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” she whispered, perching herself on
the window sill.
“What is it?” asked the old gentleman rabbit, cocking up both his
long ears and wiggling his nose sideways.
[Illustration: “I must get back before supper.”]
“I have five little pigeons in the barn,” she answered, and with a
flutter of wings she flew back to her little birds.
No sooner had Uncle Lucky closed the window than some one knocked on
the front door.
“Be careful,” whispered Mrs. Swallow from her tiny nest as Uncle
Lucky hopped out on the front porch.
The tiny sparrow’s bright eyes had spied Old Man Weasel under the
woodpile, but I guess the dear old gentleman rabbit didn’t hear her
for, without looking about, he shook hands with the Old Brown Horse.
“How are all the folks?” asked Uncle Lucky kindly. “Anybody got the
measles?”
“Nope, but the automobile has a flat tire,” answered the friendly old
horse.
“Ha, ha!” laughed the old gentleman rabbit. “You should worry!”
“I must get back before supper,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Maybe
I’ll be hitched up to the buggy. I come in very handy when something
breaks down.
“I used to pull the children
In the buggy to the town,
And over hill and thru the dale
My feet went up and down.
As o’er the road I trotted off
The children sang with joy,
But that was in the Long Ago
When I was but a boy.
It’s seldom now I take them out
Or hear their merry, happy shout!”
“Don’t feel sad,” begged dear Uncle Lucky, “your master is kind and
lets you feed on the meadow grass. You don’t have to pull a heavy
cart like many an old horse.”
“That’s true,” replied the Old Brown Horse, a smile spreading over
his face. “Maybe I’m a little lonely for the children. They were so
bright and happy.”
But, oh, dear me! and oh, dear you! just then Old Man Weasel ran out
from under the woodpile.
“Help, help!” shouted the old gentleman bunny, “help, help, give me a
club!”
“I’ll look out for you,” answered the Old Brown Horse. Kicking out
his left hind leg, he hit Old Man Weasel such a whack that the old
sneak flew over the white picket fence like a baseball from the bat
of Babe Ruth.
“That’s a home run for him,” laughed the Old Brown Horse, watching
Old Man Weasel spinning over the treetop; “when he comes down he’ll
land in the kitchen and surprise his wife.”
“Dearest me!” sighed poor frightened Uncle Lucky. “You did me a good
turn.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered the Old Brown Horse. “Glad to get a
whack at that old thief. Maybe now he’ll stay home for a while.”
[Illustration: “I’ll soon be out at the old Bramble Patch”]
BUNNY TALE 21
PHOTOGRAPHER CRANE
“One, two, three, Turkey Lane,
Is this Mr. Photographer Crane?
Please come up the Forest Path
And take my picture with a laugh,”
telephoned Little Jack Rabbit one morning, oh, so early, as Mr. Merry
Sun was climbing the blue sky in his golden chariot.
“All right, I’ll be there in a minute or three,” replied the kind
photographer bird and, picking up his camera, he started off through
the Shady Forest. It was quite a long walk, for his picture parlor
was in Bunnybridge, you know, just over the River Sippi, but by and
by, not so very far, for his long legs traveled pretty fast over the
ground, he reached the Tall Pine Tree in which Professor Jim Crow had
his home.
“Hello, Photographer Crane,” cawed the black bird professor, “where
are you going?”
“To take Little Jack Rabbit’s picture,” answered Photographer Crane,
setting down his camera and wiping his beak with a red silk pocket
handkerchief.
“Wait a minute, my little crow boy wants his taken.”
“Have no time,” answered the picture bird man.
“Oh, please take a photograph of my little crow boy,” begged
Professor Jim Crow. “It won’t take you a minute—here he is now.”
“Oh, all right,” answered Photographer Crane, setting up his camera.
“Now be quiet, don’t you sneeze,
Smile a little if you please!
Smooth your feathers nice and trim,
You’ll look like your father Jim,”
sang Photographer Crane in a sing-song voice from under the big black
cloth, which he had pulled over his head as Blackie Crow stood very
stiff and very still on a big limb of the Tall Pine Tree. Then with a
squeeze of the little rubber bulb the picture was taken. “How many do
you want?” he asked, folding up the camera.
“Maybe a dozen,” replied Professor Crow. “Send your bill with them.”
“I won’t forget that,” chuckled the Picture Bird as he hurried along.
Pretty soon he came to the Big Brown Bear’s Cozy Cave.
“Stop! Wait! Hey there!” shouted the Big Brown Bear, “I want my
picture taken.”
“Can’t wait,” answered the nervous crane, “I’m on my way to the Old
Bramble Patch.”
“It won’t take you a minute,” answered the Big Brown Bear. “Open up
your picture box and take my photo.”
“Oh, botheration!” exclaimed Photographer Crane, again setting up
his camera as the Big Brown Bear brushed his hair and combed his
trousers. I beg your pardon, I mean combed his hair and brushed his
trousers. Then, sitting down on a wooden bench and lighting his pipe,
he waited to be photographed. But, dear me! Photographer Crane was so
dreadfully nervous and his legs so trembly that the camera wiggled
and jiggled and I fear the picture will look like seven or eight
bears dancing in front of the Cozy Cave.
“Dear me!” sighed the poor nervous photographer bird as he hurried
away, “I’ll never reach the Old Bramble Patch, and I must not
disappoint Little Jack Rabbit.” But no sooner had he finished
speaking than out jumped Old Man Weasel. I wonder if he wants
his photo taken. Maybe he just feels hungry and will eat poor
Photographer Crane.
“S O S. Oh, please come quick
And bring your big old hickory stick;
There’s danger in the forest lane,
Oh, come and help poor Mr. Crane,”
shouted Professor Jim Crow over his radio as that mean Weasel crept
out from behind a tree.
Of course he did it so softly that Photographer Crane never heard
him. He had been hopping along on his long thin legs, his camera over
his back, feeling quite contented at having taken two pictures.
A good day’s work, and the day only half over. Pretty soon he would
be at the Old Bramble Patch to make a beautiful photograph of Little
Jack Rabbit.
“Maybe I’ll take it in colors,” he was thinking. “This little bunny
boy rabbit is such a nice youngster.”
Poor Photographer Crane! He didn’t see Old Man Weasel only a few feet
behind. No, indeed. If he had he might have dropped his big camera
and maybe hurt the little bird which all good photographers ask us to
watch until he squeezes the little rubber bulb.
But, no, sir! the good-hearted Photographer Crane never suspected
for a moment that he was in danger. My, but it was mighty lucky that
just then Professor Crow chanced to look down from his Tall Pine Tree
House. Dear me! I can’t bear to think what would have happened pretty
soon, and maybe mighty quick, to Photographer Crane if the good
professor bird had looked the other way!
“Bless my gold stripes and twenty-five silver buttons!” exclaimed the
brave Policeman Dog on hearing the radio call. Jumping up from his
mahogany desk, in less time than I can take to tell it, he picked up
his big hickory club and hurried to the Tall Pine Tree.
“Ha, ha!” chuckled the wicked Weasel to himself as he crept after
poor Photographer Crane, “in just two minutes or three I’ll bite in
two his long skinny left leg, ha, ha!”
“I’ll soon be at the Old Bramble Patch,” thought the kind camera
picture bird, strutting along, first on one leg and then on the
other. “I’ll make a beautiful picture of the pretty yellow canary
swinging in her gold cage on the front porch, the shiny brass knob on
the front door, Lady Love standing on the kitchen porch and Little
Jack Rabbit feeding the pigeons.”
“Gracious me! I wish the Policeman Dog would hurry,” sighed the
anxious but learned old crow bird, peering down from his Tall Pine
Tree House. He could just see Old Man Weasel’s tail as he crept, oh,
so softly after Mr. Crane.
“I won’t do a thing to that old Weasel,” laughed the Policeman Dog,
as he ran swiftly through the forest.
“My, this camera is heavy,” sighed Photographer Crane, slipping it
off his back. “I guess I’ll rest a minute or three,” and down he sat
on an old log. He didn’t see Old Man Weasel lean around a tree. Oh,
my, no!
But don’t worry, little reader, when “Pop goes the weasel!” as they
used to sing in the country when I was a boy.
Yes, “Pop” went Old Man Weasel, and the next minute poor Photographer
Crane found himself underneath that wicked furry animal.
“Help! Help!” shouted the long-legged camera man bird, giving a
kick-out with his long left leg.
“Keep quiet,” snarled Old Man Weasel, trying his best to bite the
poor struggling Crane’s bobbing-about head.
“Help! help!” shouted more loudly Photographer Crane. “Help! Help!
Please help me, somebody!”
“I will,” replied the Policeman Dog, swinging his big hickory stick
in the air. Down it came, whacko! on the wicked Weasel’s little red
cap.
“Ouch! Ouch!” he whined, letting Photographer Crane go in a hurry.
The next minute the Policeman Dog slipped a pair of handcuffs over
that old Weasel’s front paws.
“Dear, dear me!” sighed poor Photographer Crane, struggling to his
feet, no easy matter, let me tell you. Like walking up to the top of
the Woolworth Building when the elevators are on strike! At last,
when he had straightened out his long, thin knobby legs, he turned to
the kind Policeman Dog.
“Whenever you want your picture taken, come to me. I’ll take you in
fourteen different poses for less than nothing. Why, I’ll tint them
in pretty colors and maybe win a Little Jack Rabbit book for a prize.”
Then off he went to the Old Bramble Patch as the Policeman Dog
trotted away with Old Man Weasel to the Jail House in Carrot City.
At last Photographer Crane reached the Old Bramble Patch. There stood
Lady Love and Little Jack Rabbit at the front gate, dressed in their
Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, ready and smiling for a picture.
“Now look pleasant,” said Photographer Crane, setting up his big
camera on its three long slender yellow legs, though why he said it
when both little bunnies were all smiles puzzles me, but I guess it
must have been from force of habit.
“Now look as happy as you can,
Don’t you move, my bunny man.
Lady Love, smile ’neath your bonnet,
A butterfly is sitting on it.”
“All over!” he said in a minute. That is, after he had squeezed a
little rubber ball on the end of a rubber tube. “All over,” and he
smiled at the two little bunnies.
“I hope my hair wasn’t all mussed,” sighed the little rabbit’s pretty
mother.
“You’re the prettiest bunny I ever photographed,” said the
picture-taker bird. “Your blue apron will look just lovely in the
photo.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Lady Love, hopping into the kitchen to look at the
lollypop stew.
Then, folding up his camera, Photographer Crane went home to his
picture parlor, to which some day you boys and girls may go to have
your photos taken.
BUNNY TALE 22
“EVERYBODY INN”