UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE PUSSIES
UNCLE WIGGILY LONGEARS, the kind old rabbit gentleman, was hopping along
in the woods in front of his hollow-stump bungalow one morning, and,
every now and then, he would stoop over and look at the ground.
“What are you doing, Wiggy, if I may ask?” inquired Nurse Jane Fuzzy
Wuzzy, the muskrat lady, who kept the bungalow nice and neat for the
bunny uncle.
“You may ask, and I will tell you,” politely answered Mr. Longears. “I
am looking to see if any flowers are growing in the woods.”
“What! Flowers growing this time of year?” cried Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy. “It
is much too early!”
“Why, it was the first of Spring, the other day!” said Uncle Wiggily. “I
should think the flowers would be waking up now, and putting their heads
out from beneath the brown earth-blankets, under which they slept all
winter.”
“Oh, no!” laughed Nurse Jane. “First we must have some April showers to
bring May flowers.”
“Well, I am going to keep on looking,” said Uncle Wiggily. “I may find a
flower in the woods, or, if I do not, I’ll have an adventure. Either one
would be nice.”
So away hopped the bunny uncle, leaning on his red, white and blue
barber-pole striped rheumatism crutch, which Nurse Jane had nicely
speckled with pink candy for him on account of Spring coming.
And, all of a sudden, as Mr. Longears went along, he slipped in a little
puddle of water, and—presto-chango! Off flew his glasses and they were
broken all to pieces.
“Oh, dear!” cried Uncle Wiggily, picking up the bits. “That’s too bad.
Now I can hardly see to get along. I must take these glasses to the
blacksmith shop to have them mended. I hope I don’t lose my way, for,
without my glasses, I am almost as blind as a bat or an owl in daylight.
But I will do the best I can.”
With the pieces of his broken glasses in his pocket, Uncle Wiggily went
along through the woods. He peered this way and that, for the sun hurt
his eyes when he had no glasses, but still he could see a little bit.
Then, all at once, Uncle Wiggily, looking through the trees, said:
“Why, here comes Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady, I do declare!”
Uncle Wiggily made his necktie tidy and smooth, and pulled down his
vest, for he wanted to look nice. Then he made a low bow and said:
“How do you do, Mrs. Wibblewobble? I am glad to meet you in the woods.”
But there was no answer, and Uncle Wiggily said:
“Why, I wonder if she heard me? I hope Mrs. Wibblewobble isn’t getting
deaf! I must speak louder.”
He looked again where he thought he had seen the duck lady, going a
little nearer, and, lo! it was only a stump that looked like Mrs.
Wibblewobble.
“Well, well!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “I can’t see at all well without my
glasses. What a mistake to make!”
He laughed and walked on, and, pretty soon he thought he saw Mrs.
Stubtail, the lady bear, mother to Neddie and Beckie Stubtail.
“Why, how do you——” began Uncle Wiggily, and then he saw it was only a
big black stone on the woodland path.
“Ha! Another mistake!” cried the bunny uncle, with a laugh. “I am making
lots of them to-day. It comes of having such poor eye-sight!”
So he went on toward the blacksmith shop to have his glasses mended. A
little later he thought a fallen log was Grandfather Goosey Gander, and,
not long after that, he saw a pile of dried leaves and thought they were
Uncle Butter, the goat gentleman. He was just going to shake paws with
the leaves, when he came closer he saw that he had made another mistake.
“Well, well!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “It certainly is too bad not to have
your glasses once you start wearing them.”
On he went, a little farther, and he came soon to a place where some
bushes were growing. Up in the bushes a little way from the ground,
Uncle Wiggily saw some soft, furry, fuzzy things perched on the
branches.
“Oh, the dear little pussies!” cried the rabbit gentleman. “Some dog
must have come along here and chased them up in the bushes. I’ll get
them down. Don’t be afraid, little ones,” he said. “I won’t let anybody
harm you. Come to your Uncle Wiggily!”
The bunny uncle hopped up and held out his paw to the fuzzy things. They
did not speak to him.
“But that’s all right,” he said. “They are too frightened even to mew.
I’ll take them to Mother Goose and she will give them some warm milk.
Come along, Pussies!” said the rabbit gentleman.
But, though he went close to the bush, and called very gently, the
pussies did not jump into his paws.
“I guess they are too frightened,” said the bunny uncle. “I’ll just
break off the branch with the pussies on,” thought Mr. Longears, “and
carry them home that way. Poor little pussies! Did a bad bow-wow dog
scare you? Well, just come with your Uncle Wiggily, and it will be all
right!”
So the bunny gentleman broke off the branch with the soft, fuzzy pussies
on it, and away he walked through the woods.
“I’ll take them to Mother Goose,” he said, “and then I’ll go to the
blacksmith shop and have my glasses mended.”
Uncle Wiggily soon was at the house of the lady who swept cobwebs out of
the sky.
“Mother Goose! Mother Goose!” he cried. “I’ve brought you some little
pussies on the branch of a bush. A dog chased and scared them up there,
and they were afraid to come down. Please get them some warm milk with
carrot sauce in.”
Mother Goose came running to the door. She looked at the fuzzy things
Uncle Wiggily held out. Then she laughed.
“What’s the matter?” asked the bunny uncle. “Why don’t you take care of
the poor pussies?”
“Pussies? Pussies?” laughed dear old Mother Goose, harder than before.
“Those are pussy willows.”
“Pussy willows” said Uncle Wiggily, surprised like.
“Yes, they are the soft, fuzzy blossoms of the willow bush. They are
plants and not an animal at all.”
“Well, well!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “That shows what it is to be without
glasses. I certainly thought they were real pussies. I must hurry to the
blacksmith’s to have my glasses fixed.”
So he did, and his glasses were soon mended; while Mother Goose put the
pussy willows in water where they would blossom out into big cat-posies.
And if the stepladder doesn’t walk off with the cake of soap and have a
birthday party for the broom and dust pan on the back stoop, I’ll tell
you next about Uncle Wiggily and the leaves.
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