_If we desire to avoid trouble we should always do as we are told._
Once upon a time there lived a mother rabbit with her baby rabbit
in the midst of a deep forest. Her love was very great for Bunny.
She thought that no other rabbit in all the woods had such a
straight pretty little tail.
All rabbits had short straight tails then and I suppose they would
have been that way until this day had it not been for this foolish
little Bunny that I am telling you about.
For a long time he was content to play around the door of his
little house, but by and by when he began to feel like a grown-up
rabbit, he wanted to go away to Farmer Green’s turnip patch. When
his mother shook her head and said “No,” he wrinkled his nose and
became a very cross little rabbit.
When night came and his mother had fallen asleep in her bed of
warm dried leaves, Bunny crept silently out of the house on his
cushioned feet up to the dark world and ran as fast as he could.
Finally he came to a great field and right in the midst he could
see the farmer’s house, and on one side the garden. Straight
toward this garden he ran at such a pace it did not take him long
to reach the fence and find a hole to crawl through. Such a sight
he saw! Rows and rows of juicy turnips, and fresh crisp lettuce,
and round green cabbages. There was so much that he did not know
what to taste first.
All at once in a corner he saw a tiny, house-looking thing with an
open door inviting him to come in. Bunny went in and found there a
sweet red apple. But he couldn’t come out again! Try as he might,
the door would not open. He was in a rabbit trap!
The next morning Farmer Green came and carried poor Bunny to the
barn and left him shut up in a large room. By and by the hired man
came in and left the door open. Quick as a flash Bunny was out and
running through the door. Then down he fell into a tar bucket,
sticky and black. There he twisted and turned over and over until
he was all covered with tar.
It seemed as if he would never reach the side of the bucket, but
finally one black little foot stretched up and he pulled with all
his might, till over he went and started to run again. This time
he ran straight into a cotton basket full of white cotton. He was
certainly a sight now, for the cotton stuck to the tar. For a long
time he lay there and rested.
When night came he crept out of the basket and ran home where his
poor little frightened mother was crying. You may be sure she
hardly knew her son, and she began at once to wash and scrub and
scrape him to get off the tar and the cotton. At last he was the
same little rabbit again, except for a fluffy little piece of
cotton which clung to his tail and still clings there yet. And that
is why we call him cotton tail.