Yes, sir, that’s how Billy Breeze whispers bad news! “I’m glad I’m safe at home,” thought the little bunny, as he opened the little gate in the white picket fence around the dear Old Bramble Patch. “Dear, oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Grouse, hiding her brood under her wings amid the brown underbrush. “Goodness gracious!” cackled little Henny Jenny, “I’m glad Old Sic’em, the farmer’s dog, is around. I hope the Farmer’s Boy won’t whistle to him.” “Heigh, ho!” yawned Mrs. Cow, with a shake of her head, making the little bell on her collar ting-a-ling. “So old Danny Fox is out hunting!” Then the motherly lady cow walked over to rub her nose against the silky ear of her long-legged little calf. “But you needn’t be afraid of that old robber. He eats only little defenseless bunnies and chickens. He’s no real hunter. Oh, my, no! He’s only a sneak thief.” “What’s that you’re saying about me?” asked a voice, all of a sudden, quick as a lightning bug or a tornado. There stood Danny Fox himself, close by the Old Rail Fence. “Moo-oo! Moo-oo!” answered Mrs. Cow, lowering her head till her horns pointed right at his head. “S-s-s-h!” whispered the sly old robber, “maybe the farmer will think you’re calling him!” “I don’t care if he does,” answered Mrs. Cow, giving her head a toss, but quickly lowering it to bring the tips of her horns on a level with Danny Fox’s eyes. “Don’t you bother me, you old rascal.” “Ha, ha!” laughed Danny Fox, carefully peering here and there, however, for fear some one might be coming by, “I’m not afraid of you. Besides, you have a thimble on each of your horns.” They weren’t real thimbles, you know, but the little brass caps which the Farmer had fastened on. Danny Fox thought they were thimbles because Mrs. Fox used a thimble when she mended Bushytail’s coat or Slyboot’s trousers. “I don’t care what you say, you old robber,” answered Mrs. Cow with a loud moo-oo! walking up to the fence as brave as a fireman or a policeman. “Get out, or I’ll toss you over the Bubbling Brook, or maybe farther!” “Now, don’t get disagreeable,” whined the old fox, “I’m going along. Maybe I’ll find a nice little rabbit for supper.” But he won’t catch Little Jack Rabbit. No, indeed! That dear little bunny boy is safe in the Old Bramble Patch. THE RADIO ALARM “Dear me!” exclaimed Lady Love, the little rabbit’s pretty mother, “where is my bunny boy?” and the worried lady rabbit hopped out of the kitchen of the tiny white bungalow down to the edge of the Sunny Meadow. Shading her eyes with her paw, she looked up the old Cow Path to the Big Red Barn, but no little bunny boy could she see there or anywhere. “Dear me!” she sighed again, “what has become of him. I hope Danny Fox isn’t chasing him in the Shady Forest.” For some time she stood at the edge of the Old Bramble 

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