rabbit.“Gr-r-r!” growled the big ferocious animal; “I’d like to eat you. I would, if I could only break through into the Old Bramble Patch.”Little Jack Rabbit didn’t wait to hear more. Quickly taking down the canary cage, he hopped one, two, three, go! into his little bungalow.“Mother! Mother!” he shouted, skip-toeing into the kitchen, “something dreadful is going to happen to-night. Mr. Wicked Wolf is waiting outside.”“You don’t say so!” cried the anxious lady bunny. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! what shall we do? I declare, I wish your father wouldn’t go away on business so often.”“How will we hear the bunny stories to-night?” asked the little rabbit.“Goodness knows!” replied his mother. “Maybe I’d better telephone.”But, dear, dear me! the wire was out of order and all you could hear was a dreadful buzzing like a million bees.“Well, if I’m not mad clear through and through,” said Lady Love. “The idea of Mr. Wicked Wolf spoiling our evening. I believe he’s done something to the telephone wire,” and the ex-as-per-ated lady bunny again took down the receiver. Then, all of a sudden, she hopped over to the electric drop-light and, unscrewing the silk cord connection, placed it against the telephone.Goodness me! What a howl of pain came from the outskirts of the Old Bramble Patch. With a laugh, Lady Love hopped over to the back porch and pointed to Mr. Wicked Wolf limping across the Sunny Meadow.“He had pulled down my telephone wire,” cried the lady bunny, “but he let go when I gave him a shock of electricity. Ha, ha! I guess he won’t trouble us any more this evening.” Then putting on her little sunny bonnet with the pinky roses on it, she and Little Jack Rabbit hopped over to Cousin Cottontail’s house. BUNNY TALE 7TIMMIE MEADOWMOUSE Little Jack Rabbit looked out of the tiny white bungalow in the Old Bramble Patch. The rain was falling and the Sunny Meadow wasn’t the least bit sunny. No, indeed. The Bubbling Brook was making a great fuss as it rushed along, sometimes overflowing its banks and making little lakes in the hollow spaces.“Ker dunk! ker dunk!” croaked Granddaddy Bullfrog from his log in the Old Duck Pond. He didn’t mind the rain. His rubber coat kept him nice and dry. As for his shoes, I guess he’d never outgrown his boyhood’s delight in bare legs.Down from the Farmyard waddled Duckey Waddles on his big wide wabbly yellow feet. He loved the wet weather, oh, my yes. Pretty soon he went in for a swim, now and then, and sometimes oftener, standing on his head in the water to catch a little minnow.“Quack, quack!” he shouted in answer to Granddaddy Bullfrog’s solemn “Ker dunk, ker dunk!”Up at the Farmyard Cocky Doodle, Henny Jenny, Goosey Lucy and Turkey Tim stood out of the wet under the old cowshed, wondering how long Mr. Merry Sun would hide behind the 

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