THE OLD HOLLOW STUMP
Oh, dear me, how Mr. North Wind did blow! He rocked Mrs. Oriole’s nest that hung from the willow tree by the Old Duck Pond back and forth till Little Jack Rabbit thought it would come off and drop to the ground. But it didn’t, for Mrs. Oriole knew how to knit, let me tell you, and her stocking-like nest clung to the old willow tree like a thrift stamp when you try to get it off to buy something you forgot to get before the war began!
“Well, I guess I’ll let it alone,” said Mr. North Wind; “maybe Mrs. Oriole will want to use it next spring. Perhaps she used up all her wool making sweaters for the boys over there.”
“When do you go back north?” asked the little rabbit, for he was thinking of the dear old summer time, when Granddaddy Bullfrog sat on his log and caught flies and the darning-needles skimmed over the water.
“Oh, pretty soon, not so very long,” said Mr. North Wind. “When Miss Spring and her little Balmy Breezes come tripping over the Sunny Meadow, I’ll say good-by!” And then he whistled:
“I’m a husky old wind, I am,I could blow the shell off a clam,I shake the shutters and bang the doors,And curl the nails on the pussy cat’s paws.”
“I’m a husky old wind, I am,I could blow the shell off a clam,I shake the shutters and bang the doors,And curl the nails on the pussy cat’s paws.”
“I’m a husky old wind, I am,I could blow the shell off a clam,I shake the shutters and bang the doors,And curl the nails on the pussy cat’s paws.”
“I’m a husky old wind, I am,
I could blow the shell off a clam,
I shake the shutters and bang the doors,
And curl the nails on the pussy cat’s paws.”
And then that boisterous old wind went into the Shady Forest and broke a dead limb off the old chestnut tree and nearly hit Squirrel Nutcracker, who had come out of his hole for a few minutes to stretch his legs.
Well, after that, the little rabbit hopped along, clipperty-lipperty, and by and by he saw Mr. Wicked Wolf. Oh, dear me. Wasn’t that dreadful, for who wants to meet a wolf even if his first name isn’t wicked?
“Hello, little bunny. I haven’t seen you since the last time.”
“I wish you still had your head in the Hollow Stump,” shivered Little Jack Rabbit, and then he wiggled his little pink nose so fast that Mr. Wicked Wolf had to shut his eyes for fear he’d get dizzy.
“Stop that,” he shouted. “My head is going around and around and I can’t keep my feet in one place on the ground.”
“I can’t either,” said the little rabbit, “I’m so frightened.” And before that dreadful wolf opened his eyes, Little Jack Rabbit hopped into an old hollow stump.
Well, pretty soon, Mr. Wicked Wolf opened one eye, just a little bit, you know, and then he opened the other eye a little bit, but he couldn’t see the little rabbit anywhere, so he opened both his eyes, blink, blink, just like that.
“Where are you?” he asked, and he jumped over to the hollow stump, following the little rabbit’s footprints in the snow, you see. But when he looked down into the hollow stump there wasn’t any little white shivering bunny there. No, Sireemam and No, Sireebus and No, Siree, Mr. Prohibition Man.