THE Little Lady skips first on one foot and then on the other foot,
around and around, until pretty soon she tumbles backward into _twelve
flower-pots_.
That, of course, makes a great damage, and though the Little Lady
herself isn't hurt to speak of, she is frightened very much and has to
be comforted by everybody, including the Story Teller, who comes last,
and finishes up by telling about something that happened to Jack Rabbit
when _he_ was little.
Once upon a time, it begins, when Mr. Jack Rabbit was quite small, his
mother left him all alone one afternoon while she went across the Wide
Grass Lands to visit an old aunt of hers and take her some of the nice
blackberries she had been putting up that morning. Mrs. Rabbit had been
very busy all the forenoon, and little Jack had been watching her and
making believe he was putting up berries too.
And when Mrs. Rabbit got through she had cleaned her stove and polished
it as nice as could be; then she gave little Jack Rabbit his dinner,
with some of the berries that were left over, and afterward she washed
his face and hands and found his blocks for him to play with, besides a
new stick of red sealing-wax--the kind she used to seal her cans with;
for they did not have patent screw-top cans in those days, but always
sealed the covers on with red sealing-wax.
Then Mrs. Rabbit told little Jack that he could play with his blocks,
and build houses, with the red stick for a chimney, and to be a good boy
until she came home. So little Jack Rabbit promised, and Mrs. Rabbit
kissed him twice and took her parasol and her reticule and a can of
berries, and started. Little Jack would have gone with her, only it was
too far.
Well, after she had left, little Jack played with his blocks and built
houses and set the stick of sealing-wax up for a brick chimney, and
by-and-by he played he was canning fruit, and he wished he could have a
little stove and little cans and a little stick of sealing-wax, so he
could really do it all just as she did.
[Illustration: TOOK HER PARASOL AND HER RETICULE AND A CAN OF BERRIES,
AND STARTED]
Then little Jack Rabbit looked at the nice polished stove and wondered
how it would be to use that, and to build a little fire in it--just a
_little_ fire--which would make everything seem a good deal more real,
he thought, than his make-believe stove of blocks.
And pretty soon little Jack opened the stove door and looked in, and
when he stirred the ashes there were still a few live coals there, and
when he put in some shavings they blazed up, and when he put in some
pieces of old shingles and things they blazed up too, and when he put in
some of Mrs. Rabbit's nice dry wood the stove got _quite hot_!
Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only
meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a
big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about
playing with fire and about _never going near a hot stove_. He thought
he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting
too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of
burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open
the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that
came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it
to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red
spot on the stove door.
[Illustration: AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE
STOVE]
Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that
beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it
would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the
looks of the stove a great deal.
So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and
in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made
a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too--mostly on top of the
stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made _some_ on
the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got
all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how
pleased his mother would be when she got home and _saw_ it. But then
right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased
after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that
she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a
black one; and, besides, she had told him _never_ to play with fire.
[Illustration: LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL
PLEASED]
And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And
when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little
Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single
word that she wasn't _at all pleased_. So he began to cry very loud, and
started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little
stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit
always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools
and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit
right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"--just
sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every
minute his mother would do something awful.
But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and
then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said:
"Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!"
Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on
bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was
making a good deal of noise for a _dead_ man, and that if he'd get up
and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again.
Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against
her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her
rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And
by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while
little Jack picked up all the things--all the spools and buttons and
needles and knitting-work--every single thing.
And after supper, when he said his prayers and went to bed, he promised
never to disobey his mother again.
[Illustration: PROMISED NEVER TO DISOBEY HIS MOTHER AGAIN]