As soon as Billy Bunny and Uncle Lucky got home after leaving the Opera House, as I told you in the last story, they heard a loud noise in the back yard.

“What’s that?” said Uncle Lucky, and he peeked around the corner of the porch while Billy Bunny took his popgun out of his knapsack so as to be ready in case it was a burglar.

“I don’t see anything,” whispered the old gentleman rabbit; “you take a look.” So Billy Bunny peeped around the corner and then he hopped backward, almost knocking Uncle Lucky head over tail.

And before you could say “Jack Rabbit!” Old Man Weasel jumped from behind the house and glared at the two rabbits with his wicked eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Weasel,” said Uncle Lucky, pushing Billy Bunny behind him, for he was a brave old rabbit, was Uncle Lucky, and he was going to save his little nephew from being eaten up by the wicked weasel, if he could.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” replied Old Man Weasel, licking his lips and glaring at them with his fierce little eyes. “You look sweet and tender to me.”

“Your eyesight is pretty poor,” said Uncle Lucky bravely, “and I don’t feel very sweet just now, and I’m too old to be tender,” and he wriggled his nose so fast in the moonlight that it made Old Man Weasel dizzy to look at it, and he had to turn away, and while he wasn’t looking, Billy Bunny lifted his gun to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

And when the cork hit the wicked weasel it made him jump right up into the air, and when he came down he sprained his right foot on a big stone so that he cried:

“Oh, dear! oh, dear! And woe is me!

I’ve sprained an ankle and a knee.

I cannot walk, I cannot run!

Plague take that little rabbit’s gun!

Oh, won’t you call an am-bu-lance,

My home is such a great dis-tance!”

“If you’ll promise not to come here again,” said kind Uncle Lucky, “I’ll call up the hospital. If you don’t promise I’ll call the Policeman Dog and ask him to tickle you with his club,” and the old gentleman rabbit hopped down to the front gate and pretended to call a policeman, which frightened Old Man Weasel nearly to death. He’d rather have a sprained knee than be tickled by a policeman’s club any day in the week.

“I’ll promise! I’ll promise!” he cried, and then Billy Bunny went to the telephone and called up the hospital and they sent an ambulance around. And the doctor—the man in white, you know, who sits on the back seat of the ambulance—tied up the weasel’s knee so he couldn’t bend it, and his ankle so he couldn’t wiggle it, and then he placed him in the ambulance, while the Policeman Dog stood by to keep the crowds away, only of course there wasn’t any crowds there, for it was midnight, you know.

And in the next story I will tell you more about the two little rabbits if they only get up in time, for they’ve stayed up pretty late to-night and may not hear the alarm clock in the morning.

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