The Wonderful Bed | Page 9

the little window over the top of the red geranium the children saw a good-humored furry face with long bristly whiskers and bright twinkly eyes.
"Anybody mention my name?" said the voice, and a large Belgian Hare leaped lightly into the room. He was handsomely dressed in a light overcoat and checked trousers, and wore gaiters over his patent-leather boots. He had a thick gold watch-chain, gold studs and cuff buttons besides other jewelry, and in one hand he carried a high hat, in the other a small dress-suit case and a tightly rolled umbrella.
"What's the matter here?" he inquired cheerfully.
"Why, this bird," explained the Gentleman Goose, pointing his claw disdainfully at Ann, "says it has no feathers, which you can see for yourself is not the case. It has feathers, therefore it is a bird. Birds of a feather flock together. That settles it, I think! Come along, boys. To work!"
At his command the two duck apprentices, who were standing one on either side of Ann, made feeble dashes at the two long curls nearest them. Rudolf stepped forward but the Hare was before him. He only needed to stare at the two ducks through a single eye-glass he had screwed into one of his eyes to make them turn pale and drop their claws to their sides.
"Now once more," said the Hare to Ann. "What did you say you call those unpleasantly long whiskers of yours?"
"Hair," Ann answered meekly, for she was too frightened to be offended.
"Hair!" echoed Rudolf and Peter loudly.
"Bless me," said their new friend, "that's not at all my business, is it? Not at all in my line--oh, no!" He gathered up his hat, dress-suit case, and little umbrella from the floor where he had dropped them. "Be sure you don't follow me," he said, nodding pleasantly and winking at the children. Then he stepped to the door without so much as a look at the Gentleman Goose who called out angrily:
"Stop, stop! Catch 'em, Squealer--at 'em, Squawker--hold 'em, boys!"
It was too late. The boys were too much afraid of the Hare to do more than flutter and squawk a little, and as the Gentleman Goose did not seem inclined to make an attack single-handed, the Hare, with the children behind him, got to the door in safety. Peter, however, had to be dragged along by Ann and Rudolf, for the Lady Goose had just removed the great pot from the stove in time to prevent its contents from boiling over, and the little boy was sniffing hungrily at the steam. Now she came after the children carrying a large spoonful of the bubbling stuff. "All done, all done," she cried. "Don't go without a taste, dears."
"What's done?" asked Peter, eagerly turning back to her.
"Worms, dear; red ones and brown ones," answered the Lady Goose,--"boiled in vinegar, you know--just like mother used to make--with a wee bit of a grasshopper here and there for flavoring. Mother had the recipe handed down in her family--her side--you know, from my great-great-grandmother's half-sister who was a De l'Oie but married a Mr. Gans and was potted in the year--"
They got Peter through the door by main force, Ann and Rudolf pushing behind and the Hare pulling in front. Even then, I am ashamed to say, Peter kept calling out that he would like "just a taste", and he didn't see why the Goose's worms wouldn't be just as good as the white kind cook sent up with cheese on the top!
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CHAPTER IV
THE FALSE HARE
As they hurried away from the Goose's house, the children cast one last look behind them. There at the window was the Lady Goose waving in farewell the spoon she had stirred the hot worms with. Suddenly a whirl of white feathers flew out of the chimney, the window and the door, which the children in their haste had left open behind them, and hid her completely from their sight. At the same instant two feeble shrieks came from within the house.
"Squealer and Squawker both went into the heap that time, I guess," said Rudolf.
"I'm glad of it!" Ann cried. "_I'd_ never help either of the horrid little things out again. Would you, sir?" she asked, turning politely to the Hare.
"I dare say not," he answered, yawning. "That is, of course, unless I had particularly promised not to. In that case I suppose I'd have to."
All three children looked very much puzzled.
"Would you mind telling us," asked Ann timidly, "what you meant when you said _this_"--and she touched her hair--"was not your business?"
"Not at all," said the Hare cheerfully. "I meant that it was."
"But you said--"
"Oh, what I said was, of course, untrue."
"Do you mean you tell stories?" Ann looked very much shocked, and so did the others.
"Certainly," said the Hare, "that's my business, I'm a