out of his wooden house. “Bow, wow!” he went, tugging at the chain which kept him home nights in his little bungalow, “wow.”"Keep quiet, can’t you,” whined Danny Fox.
“Get out!” snarled Old Sic’em. “I’ll call the farmer.”
Just then who should hop by in the moonlight but Little Jack Rabbit on his way home. 
“I guess I’ll catch that little bunny,” thought the old fox, sneaking around to the Big Red Barn. 
“Now where is the old robber going?” the Weathercock asked himself, as he swung to and fro on his gilded toe. He needn’t have asked that question, though, for just then he spied Little Jack Rabbit and a second later, Danny Fox. 
“Dear, dear me!” thought the kind Weathercock, “I don’t want that wicked fox to catch that nice little bunny. What shall I do?” 
All of a sudden he remembered the radio. On top of the Big Red Barn the Farmer’s Boy had fastened a set of wires which led down to his little room in the loft. 
“Hello! hello!” shouted the Weathercock. “Danny Fox is after Little Jack Rabbit!” 
The Farmer’s Boy must have heard him, for out of bed he jumped to call through the transmitter: 
“Danny Fox is after Little Jack Rabbit! Danny Fox is out hunting!”
“Ha, ha!” exclaimed the Policeman Dog, as the message rang out in the Station House and, picking up his club, off he started for the Shady Forest.
Just then a soft voice whispered from the treetop: 
“Danny Fox is close to the heels of Little Jack Rabbit.”
The dear little bunny was hopping down the forest trail happy as could be. He didn’t know that close behind was crafty Danny Fox. No, siree! He thought he was safe enough. Why, he never had a thought of danger. 
“I’ll soon be home with Mother,” he said to himself when, all of a sudden—dear, dear! Will something dreadful happen? 
“Now I’ll get you!” snarled Danny Fox. 
“No, not yet!” barked the Policeman Dog, swinging his club. Whack! Down it came on the old fox’s head. 
“Now, run!” shouted the Policeman Dog. And maybe Little Jack Rabbit didn’t go! Why, he went so fast that he left his shadow a mile behind him! 
Then back to the Station House trotted the Policeman Dog, leaving the sly fox to get home as best he could. 
In a few minutes the little bunny was safe in the dear Old Bramble Patch. 
“Mother dear,” he said the next morning, “can’t I have a radio outfit for my very own?” 
“Call up the Three-in-One-Cent Store and find out what it will cost,” she answered. 
It took the little rabbit bunny boy just a minute or three to call up “Rabbitville, 1, 2, 3. Hurry up! It’s little me.” 
“Who’s Little Me?” asked a voice. Then, of course the little rabbit had to explain who he was, whether it looked like rain, and why the clover tops were not so red as last year. You see, the person in the Three-in-One-Cent Store was a very curious person, always 

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