LITTLE JACK RABBIT





TO THE POST OFFICE

“ Billy Breeze, please blow no more
The leaves around the kitchen door.
It takes my time till ten fifteen
To make the doorstep nice and clean,”

said Little Jack Rabbit the next morning after he had polished the front doorknob and fed the canary and filled the woodbox in the kitchen with kindling wood.

Oh, my, yes, he was a busy little rabbit. He had to help his mother in lots of ways, especially when Uncle John Hare was making a visit at the Old Bramble Patch.

Well, when the little rabbit had done all these things, his mother asked him to go down to the post office and buy her three War Savings Stamps and the Rabbitville Gazette for Uncle John, who had a touch of rheumatism in his left hind toe and didn’t feel like hopping around, but preferred to sit in an armchair on the back stoop where it was warm and sunny.

Now, as Little Jack Rabbit hopped along, he met Chippy Chipmunk under the Big Chestnut Tree, so of course he stopped and said good morning.

“Where are you going?” asked the little Chipmunk. And when he found out, he took two twenty-five carrot cent pieces out of his pocket and asked the little rabbit to buy him two Thrift Stamps.

“All right,” said the little bunny, dropping the two quarters in his knapsack, and by and by, not so very far, he met Squirrel Nutcracker.

“Where are you going?” asked the old gray squirrel.

“Down to the Post Office,” answered the little rabbit.

“Will you buy me a dollar’s worth of Thrift Stamps, please,” said Squirrel Nutcracker. So the little rabbit tucked the lettuce dollar bill in his waistcoat pocket and hopped along. And pretty soon, not so very far, he met Busy Beaver. He was plastering the top of his little mud house and was dreadfully busy, but when he heard where Little Jack Rabbit was going, he put his little muddy paw in his pocket and took out a fifty cent piece.

“Please buy me two Thrift Stamps, I’ve no time to go to the village. I must finish my house before the frost comes.”

The little rabbit put the fifty cent piece in his knapsack and hopped along, and by and by Parson Owl, who sat winking and blinking in his Hollow Tree House, called out to the little rabbit as he hopped over the dry leaves:

“Hey, there! Where are you going?”

“Down to the Post Office to buy stamps!”

“Will you buy me ten dollars’ worth if I give you the money?” asked the winky, blinky old owl. Goodness me; it will take another story to tell what happened after that.

 



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