"I hope that the chimney hasn't fallen down, or the egg
beater run away with the potato masher."
"No, nothing like that," Nurse Jane said. "But we haven't any butter!"
"No butter?" spoke Uncle Wiggily, sort of puzzled like, and abstracted.
"Not a bit of butter for supper," went on Nurse Jane, sadly.
"Ha! That sounds like something from Mother Goose. Not a bit of
butter for supper," laughed Uncle Wiggily. "Not a bit of batter-butter
for the pitter-patter supper. If Peter Piper picked a pit of peckled
pippers--"
"Oh, don't start that!" begged Nurse Jane. "All I need is some supper
for butter--no some bupper for batter--oh, dear! I'll never get it
straight!" she cried.
"I'll say it for you," said Uncle Wiggily, kindly. "I know what you
want--some butter for supper. I'll go get it for you."
"Thank you," Nurse Jane exclaimed, and so the old rabbit gentleman
started off over the fields and through the woods for the butter store.
The monkey-doodle gentleman waited on him, and soon Uncle Wiggily was
on his way back to the hollow stump bungalow with the butter for
supper, and he was thinking how nice the carrot muffins would taste,
for Nurse Jane had promised to make some, and Uncle Wiggily was sort of
smacking his whiskers and twinkling his nose, when, all at once, he
heard some one in the woods calling:
"Uncle Wiggily! Oh, I say, Uncle Wiggily! Can't you stop for a moment
and say how-d'-do?"
"Why, of course, I can," answered the bunny, and, looking around the
corner of an old log, he saw Grandpa Whackum, the old beaver gentleman,
who lived with Toodle and Noodle Flat-tail, the beaver boys.
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