Uncle Wiggilys Travels | Page 4

duck boy put his
head at the bottom of the pond and see if there is any gold down there."
So off the old gentleman rabbit started, limping on his crutch, for his

rheumatism was troubling him again, and at his side swung his valise,
with some crackers and cheese and bread and butter and jam in
it--plenty of jam, too, let me tell you, for the red squirrel's mamma
could make lovely preserves, and this was carrot jam, with turnip
frosting on it.
Well, Uncle Wiggily traveled on and on, over the hills and through the
deep woods, and pretty soon he came to a place where he saw a lot of
little black ants trying to carry to their nest a nice big piece of meat that
some one had dropped.
"My, how hard those ants are working," thought the rabbit. "But that
meat is too heavy for them. I'll have to help carry it."
Now the piece of meat was only as big as a quarter of a small cocoanut,
but, of course, that's too big for an ant to carry; or even for forty-'leven
ants, so Uncle Wiggily kindly lifted it for them, and put it in their nest.
"Thank you very much," said the biggest ant. "If ever we can do you a
favor, or any of your friends, we will."
The old gentleman rabbit said he was glad to hear that, and then, taking
up his crutch and valise again, on he went.
Pretty soon he came to a place in the woods where the sun was shining
down through the trees, and a little brook was making pretty music
over the stones. And then, all at once, the old gentleman rabbit heard a
different kind of music, and it was that of a little bird singing. And this
is the song.
Now I did not make up this song. It is much prettier than I could write,
even if I had my Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes on, and I don't know
who did write it. But it used to be in my school reader when I was a
little boy, and I liked it very much. I hope whoever did write it won't
mind if you sing it. This is it:
"There's a little brown bird sitting up in a tree, He's singing to you--he's
singing to me. And what does he say, little girl--little boy? Oh, the

world's running over with joy!"
Then the bird sang about how there were five eggs laid away up in a
nest, and how, pretty soon, little birds would come out from them, and
then, all of a sudden, the bird sang like this:
"But don't meddle,--don't touch, Little girl--little boy, Or the world will
lose some of its joy!"
"Ha! you seem quite happy this beautiful morning," said Uncle Wiggily,
as he paused under the tree where the bird was singing. "Why, I do
declare," he exclaimed. "If it isn't Mrs. Wren! Well, I never in all my
born days! I didn't know you were back from the South yet."
"Yes, Uncle Wiggily," said the little brown wren, "I came up some time
ago. But I'm real glad to see you. I'm going to take my little birdies out
of the shell pretty soon. They are almost hatched."
"Glad to hear it," said the rabbit, politely, and then he told about
seeking his fortune, and all of a sudden a great big ugly crow-bird flew
down out of a tall tree and made a dash for Mrs. Wren to eat her up.
But Mrs. Wren got out of the way just in time, and didn't get caught.
But alack, and alas-a-day! The crow knocked down the wren's nest, and
all the sticks and feathers of which it was made were scattered all about,
and the eggs, with the little birdies inside, would have been all broken
ker-smash, only that they happened to fall down on some soft moss.
"Oh, dear!" cried Mrs. Wren, sorrowfully. "Now see what that crow has
done! My home is broken up, and my birdies will be killed."
"Caw! Caw! Caw!" cried the crow as unkindly as he could, and it
sounded just as if he laughed "Haw! Haw! Haw!"
"Oh, whatever shall I do?" asked Mrs. Wren. "My birdies will have no
nest, and I haven't time to make another and break up the little fine
sticks that I need and gather the feathers that are scattered all over. Oh,
what shall I do? Soon my birdies will be out of the shells."

"Never fear!" said Uncle Wiggily, bravely. "I will help you. I'll gather
the sticks for you."
"Oh, but you haven't time; you must be off seeking your fortune,"
answered the wren.
"Oh, I guess my fortune can wait. It has been waiting