cheek.”

“How’s Uncle Lucky?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” laughed the bunny boy.

“He’s always well
And hops up with
The rising bell.”

“Turnip Town!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Dog Driver, and out jumped the little rabbit boy to buy his chocolate mouse.

“Dear me!” he sighed, as he hopped out of the candy shop, “I must hurry home,” and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip to the Shady Forest.

By and by, not so very far, a dreadful howl sounded close at hand. Dear me! before poor little Jack Rabbit could hop away somebody grabbed him by the throat.

“Ha, ha, ha! Now I’ve got you!” chuckled a deep, growly voice, and Mr. Wicked Wolf dropped the little frightened bunny boy into a big empty gunny sack. Then, throwing it over his shoulder, he started off for his den in the Shady Forest.

“Ha, ha, ha!” again chuckled Mr. Wicked Wolf, “what a nice dinner Mrs. Wolf and I will have tonight!”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “mother will never again see her little bunny boy come hopping up the path in the Old Bramble Patch.”

“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mr. Wolf, as he hurried along with the poor little rabbit.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the poor little bunny boy, all alone in the sack on the back of the big wicked wolf, “what shall I do, what shall I do? I’m a goner. Yes, I’m a goner, just as sure as Monday follows Sunday and sunshine follows rain, and the little brook flows to the ocean, and green apples give you a pain!”

Poor Little Jack Rabbit! all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

Just then a little voice from the treetop whispered: “Haven’t you a knife in your pocket, little rabbit?”

It was Bobbie Redvest’s voice, so low and sweet that Mr. Wicked Wolf, who was old and deaf, never heard a word.

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