OLD MOLLY HARE.
“Don’t be afraid, little girl—it is only Old Molly Hare. I won’t hurt you.”
“Oh, Molly, my heart is going pit-a-pat. I was playing that I was in a jungle, and when you popped your head up, I thought you were a lion. Where did you come from?”
“I was sitting behind the fence, and a bad boy threw a stone at me, so I took to my heels through the wheat. My little ones are waiting for me in the hollow tree yonder.”
“Tell me about them. Have they got pretty eyes, and long brown ears like you, Molly? I never saw a baby hare.”
“Their eyes are not as pretty as yours, little girl, but they can see behind and before at once, and their long ears can hear a pin fall.”
“How nice! I wish I was a hare, Molly.”
“Better be a little girl. You have a warm house, but we live under the rocks and fences—and when the snow is on the ground, if we even poke our noses out, the men and dogs are after us.”
“Well, I’m going to tell my papa that he mustn’t shoot you. But, Molly, don’t you get mad sometimes? I heard my grandpapa tell a man that he was as ‘mad as a March hare.’”
“That’s only an old saying, my dear. Hark! I hear a gun. Good-bye.”
OLD MOLLY HARE.
OLD MOLLY HARE.
OLD MOLLY HARE.