Читать книгу Uncle Wiggily and the Littletails - Howard R Garis - Страница 8

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The big animal with the horns came close to Sammie.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know,” replied the little rabbit boy. Sammie was puzzled.

“How did you get here?” asked the big animal.

“I was digging a new burrow, and I—I just happened to come out here. But I’ll go right away again, if you’ll let me,” said Sammie.

“Of course I’ll let you. Don’t you know it’s against the rules of the park to be here? What do you suppose they have different parts of the park for, if it isn’t to keep you rabbits out of certain places?”

The big animal seemed rather angry and shook his head and horns at the little rabbit boy.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” was all Sammie could say.

“Do you know who I am?” asked the horned creature.

“No—no, sir.”

“Well, I’m a deer.”

“My—my mother calls me that, sometimes—when I’ve been real good,” said Sammie.

“No, I don’t mean that kind at all,” and the deer tried to smile. “My name is spelled differently. I’m a cousin of the Santa Claus reindeer. But you must go now. No rabbits are allowed in the part of the park where we live. You should not have come here,” and again the deer shook his horns at Sammie.

“I—I never will again,” said the little rabbit boy. Then, before the deer knew what was happening, Sammie jumped down his new burrow, ran along to the front door, and darted off toward home.

When he was almost there he saw a little brown bird sitting on a bush, and the bird seemed to be calling to him.

“Wait a minute, little rabbit boy,” said the bird. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Because I saw such a dreadful animal,” was Sammie’s reply, and he told about the deer.

“Pooh! Deer are very nice creatures indeed,” said the bird. “I used to know one, and I used to perch on his horns. But what I stopped to ask you about was whether you know of a nice nest which I could rent for this Spring. You see, I have come up from the South a little earlier than usual, and I can’t find the nest I had last year. It was in a little wooden house that a nice man built for me, but the wind has blown it down. I didn’t know but what you might have seen a little nest somewhere.”

“No,” said Sammie, “I haven’t. I am very sorry.”

“So am I,” went on the little brown bird. “But I must tell you my name. I am Mrs. Wren.”

“Oh, I have heard about you,” said the little rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t know of a nest about here?” Mrs. Wren asked anxiously. “I don’t want to fly all the way back down South. Suppose you go home and ask your mother.”

“I will,” said Sammie. “Don’t you want to come, too?”

“Yes, I think I will. Oh, dear! I’m quite hungry. I declare, I had such an early breakfast, I’m almost starved.”

“I know my mother will give you something to eat,” said Sammie politely, “that is, if you like cabbage, carrots and such things.”

“Oh, yes, almost anything will do. Now, you go ahead, and I will follow.”

So Sammie Littletail bounced and hopped on along the ground, and Mrs. Wren flew along overhead in the air like a plane.

“Where do you live?” she asked Sammie.

“In a burrow.”

“What is a burrow?” inquired Mrs. Wren.

“Why, it’s a house,” said Sammie.

“You are mistaken,” said the bird, though she spoke politely. “A nest is the only house there is.”

“Well, a burrow is our house,” declared Sammie. “You’ll see.”

He was soon home, and, while the bird waited outside, he went in to ask his mother if she knew of a nest Mrs. Wren could rent.

“What a funny question!” said Mamma Littletail. “I will go out and see Mrs. Wren.”

So she went out, and the bird asked about a nest. But, as the rabbits never had any use for them, the bunny knew nothing about such things.

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the bird. “Wherever shall I stay to-night? Oh, what trouble I am in.”

“You might stay with us to-night,” said Mamma Littletail, kindly, “and look for a nest to-morrow.”

“I never lived in a burrow,” said Mrs. Wren, “but I will try it,” so she flew down into the underground house. Next I am going to tell you how the wren bird did a great kindness to Uncle Wiggily. That is I can tell the story if the cake of soap doesn’t use the wash rag for a sail and go swimming all around the bath tub.