birds can perch on the roof and the little animals crawl under the seats; maybe one or two might sit with the stage coach driver, the nice Old Dog who smokes a big pipe while holding the reins in his left paw and the whip in his right. Oh, he’s a good driver, so kind and gentle that the billy goat team will do anything for him.
“Dear me, I mustn’t forget a single friend,” thought the little rabbit, as he hopped over the Bubbling Brook and across the Sunny Meadow to the Old Brush Heap. Up the well-worn little path he hurried, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, to Cousin Cottontail’s little bungalow under the trailing green vines.
“Cousin Cottontail,” he shouted, “where are you?”
“We’re here,” came the answer, and out popped all the little cottontails, one after another—five in all, their pink noses twinkling like so many little stars.
“I’m giving a circus party to-morrow,” said Little Jack Rabbit. “Want to come?”
Gracious me! I don’t see why he thought it necessary to ask five little bunnies if they wanted to go to the circus!
“Of course we do,” they all shouted at once, which brought Mrs. Cottontail to the door to find out what all the noise was about.
“What time do you start?” she asked.
“At seven to-morrow morning. We all go in the Billy Goat Stage Coach,” explained Little Jack Rabbit. “Please be on time, for if we don’t get an early start we may not reach Turnip City in time to see the Grand Parade of all the Queer People.”
“We’ll be over bright and early,” promised Mrs. Cottontail. “Don’t you worry about us. Maybe some of your other friends will keep you waiting, but not your old auntie.”
Pretty soon she brought out an apronful of nice cookies, just hot out of the oven. Oh, what a nice feast all the little rabbits had! Nor did they forget to save the crumbs for Bobbie Redvest, who happened to pass by later on.
“Well, I guess I must be going,” sighed Little Jack Rabbit, when the last cookie was gone. “Mother will worry if I’m late for supper.” And away he hopped, clipperty clip, lipperty lip, down the little path under the Big Brush Heap and across the Pleasant Meadow to the Bubbling Brook, over which he hopped to the Sunny Meadow. At last he was safe home in the dear Old Bramble Patch, eating a nice supper of stewed lollypops. It seemed to him that he had hardly jumped into bed and fallen asleep when:
“Wake up, wake up! It’s almost time
For the Billy Goat Stage to be here.
Will I have to climb to your little bedroom
And shout it out loud in your ear?” sang the cuckoo bird from her pretty clock house.
Out of bed hopped Lady Love and Mr. Rabbit; off came Grandma Bunny’s night cap, and in less time than I can take to tell it they were all dressed and in the kitchen, eating a breakfast of lollypop porridge, turnip tea and carrot cakes with maple syrup.
“All 

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