“Little Jack Rabbit!” said his mother, the next morning, “run down to the postoffice and see if there’s a letter for me.” So the little rabbit put on his khaki cap and his little knapsack and started off, and by and by, after a while, he came to Rabbitville, where the postoffice stood on the corner of Pumpkin Place and Corn Cob Lane.

“Is there a letter for Mrs. John Rabbit, Old Bramble Patch, Rail Fence Corner, U. S. A.?” he asked the lady postmistress, an old maid grasshopper who worked for Uncle Sam in the winter and in the summer played in the wheat field.

“I think there is,” she said, looking in box 13, and, sure enough, there was. Then she handed the letter to the little rabbit, and shut the door of the little window and after that she took out her vanity bag and powdered her nose.

The little rabbit put the letter in his knapsack and started home, but just as he reached the Shady Forest, whom should he see but Squirrel Nutcracker. The old gray squirrel had come out of his hollow tree for a little run in the sun. You see, on cold days he curled himself up in a ball and kept very quiet, but on warm days he came out and jumped from limb to limb to get the cramps out of his leg muscles.

“Where are you going, little rabbit?” he asked, and then he took a nut out of his pocket and cracked it with his sharp teeth without a bit of trouble.

“I’ve got a letter for mother,” said Little Jack Rabbit, “and I mustn’t stop to talk to anyone,” and he hopped along as fast as he could, for he was afraid he might lose the letter, you see. Well, pretty soon, not so very long, he came to the Old Bramble Patch, and after he had given the letter to his mother he hopped out on the Sunny Meadow, and just then, all of a sudden, Old Professor Jim Crow flew by. He had his little Black Book under his wing, and as soon as he saw the little rabbit he lighted on a bush and turned to page 23.

“Let me read you something,” he said, putting on his spectacles, and after he had cawed three times and a half he began:

“Little rabbits should take care
To every morning comb their hair.
They always should be clean and neat
And keep their dispositions sweet.”

And then that wise old bird looked up over his spectacles and winked at the little rabbit. “Did you comb your hair this morning?” he asked. And wasn’t it lucky that Little Jack Rabbit hadn’t forgotten to? Well, I just guess it was.


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