Little Jack Rabbit and the Squirrel Brothers | Page 9

way to the Post Office to buy Thrift Stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette. And, oh dear me! I'm all mixed up. I can't remember whether Timmy Chipmunk gave the little rabbit ten dollars or whether Old Parson Owl did. Or whether the Squirrel Brothers wanted two stamps, or whether it was Busy Beaver who wanted three, or maybe four and perhaps five. Oh dear me again!
But never mind. I guess the little rabbit wasn't mixed up, for he hopped along as happy as you please, and just before he came to Rabbitville, he heard a voice in the treetops say:
"Where are you going, little Hoppity Hop, You're going so fast maybe you can't stop."
"Oh, yes, I can," answered Little Jack Rabbit. "What do you want?"
"That depends on where you are going," said Professor Jim Crow, for it was the old blackbird who had stopped the little rabbit, you see.
"I'm going to the Post Office to buy Mother Three Thrift Stamps and Uncle John the Rabbitville Gazette, and let me see. Oh, yes; oh, yes. Chippy Chipmunk gave me two quarters to buy him two Thrift Stamps, and Squirrel Nutcracker handed me a lettuce dollar bill to buy him four, and Busy Beaver gave me a fifty-cent piece to buy him two, and Parson Owl just now pinned in my inside pocket a ten-dollar lettuce bill to pay for forty stamps."
"I wonder what he wants so many stamps for?" said Professor Jim Crow. "Why doesn't he buy a Liberty Bond?"
"Maybe he wants to give them away," answered the little rabbit. "But I mustn't stop--I must be going."
"Wait, wait," said Professor Jim Crow. "Here's some money. Buy me ten Thrift Stamps," and he handed over a two and one-half dollar lettuce bill. "Don't lose the half," added the wise old crow, and then he flew up into his old pine tree and cawed away right merrily. And after that the little rabbit hopped along and when he came to the Post Office, he went up to the little stamp window and asked the old maid grasshopper, who was the postmistress, you remember--but if you don't, she was, just the same, for Bobbie Redvest told me so--if there were any letters. But there was only the Rabbitville Gazette done up in a pink wrapper and yellow two-cent stamp.
"Have you Thrift Stamps?" asked Bunny Boy. And when the lady grasshopper said yes, he told her just how many he wanted, for he could remember everything, you see, which is more than I can, let me tell you, unless I look back over this story. And after he had put the stamps carefully in his knapsack with little pieces of wax paper between so that they wouldn't stick together, he started back for the Old Bramble Patch. And in the next story, if all those stamps don't get angry and try to lick each other, I'll tell you what happened after that.

BUSY TIMES
When Little Jack Rabbit finally reached home with the stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette, he found his Uncle John singing at the piano this lovely song:
The Autumn leaves are falling Along the Woodland ways, In scarlet, brown and yellow coats These cool November days.
They rustle by the Old Rail Fence, They whisper in the lane, Or from the shivering half-clad trees They sing a sad refrain.
But Mrs. Rabbit was too busy putting up carrot preserves and lettuce pickles to even listen. All the little people of the Shady Forest and Sunny Meadow were getting ready for Winter.
The little feathered people were pruning their wings for a long flight to the warm Southland, and the four-footed folk were gathering nuts and grain for their storehouses.
The Squirrel Brothers had a bushel of nuts, and maybe more, laid away carefully in the old chestnut tree, and Chippy Chipmunk had filled his underground storeroom with nuts and corn.
Granddaddy Bullfrog was almost ready to dive into the Old Duck Pond to hide in the soft warm mud. Teddy Turtle, too, would soon find for himself a nice warm spot on the mud bottom of the mill pond before Jack Frost touched the water with his icy fingers.
And Mr. John Hare had telephoned to the Old Red Rooster to come over and put up Mrs. Rabbit's storm-door and bank the cellar windows with dry leaves.
"Mother," said Little Jack Rabbit, as he polished the brass doorknob, "I guess Jack Frost will soon be around."
"Shouldn't wonder," she replied, "but who's afraid of Jack Frost? Danny Fox and Mr. Wicked Weasel, to say nothing of Hungry Hawk, are more to be feared." And that good lady rabbit began her ironing, for it was Tuesday, the day when all Rabbitville irons Monday's wash, I'm told.
Just then Bobbie Redvest began to sing:
The summer time is over, And all the golden hours, No more the