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"Scurry around now, little ones, and get Uncle Wiggily and his friend the nice things for breakfast. Hurry now, for they will be wanting to travel on before the sun gets too hot," the mamma hen said. So one little chickie got the oranges, and another chickie got the bananas, and still another chickery-chicken, with a spotted tail, got the carrots, and then Clarabella went to where Mrs.
Why, I think some fried oranges with carrot gravy on them would be nice, don't you, Mr. Porcupine?" "No," said the stickery-stockery creature. "I think I would like to have some bread with banana butter on and a glass of milk with vanilla flavoring." "You may both have what you like, because you were so kind to my little lost Clarabella," said Mrs. Hen. Then she spoke to her children.
Evidently I thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine appellation possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy. So you see I can sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent." "But they must call the little chaps something, now," argued Hugh. Billy gave a sudden merry laugh. "They do," she gurgled, "and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril doesn't.
Now I like 'Helen Clarabella' lots better than 'Hannah, but I'm not going to ask you to change that and I'm going to love you just as well, even if you are 'Hannah' see if I don't! And you'll love Spunk, too, I'm sure you will. Now watch me find the end of this snarl!"
Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and fishing rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm afraid if I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen Clarabella' all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with 'first, 'second, 'third, and so on, added to them for distinction.
The mamma toad was giving the little ones their morning lesson. And I just wish you could have seen how nicely those tiny toads could hop. One little chap, named Sylvester, hopped over a big stone, and his little sister, named Clarabella, leaped over a stick with a nail in it and didn't get hurt a bit. "Ha! That is very good hopping!
And she danced over to the dumbfounded little lady in the big chair, gave her an affectionate kiss, and then attacked the tangled mass of black with skilful fingers. "But, I you oh, my grief and conscience!" finished the little woman whose name was not Helen Clarabella. "Oh, my grief and conscience," according to Bertram, was Aunt Hannah's deadliest swear-word.
Now I won't have to go. Come along, children, little lost Clarabella is found. Uncle Wiggily found her." So she clucked to all the other children, and the rabbit led them toward where Clarabella was sitting on the rock with the porcupine. And on the way a big, ugly fox leaped out of the bushes and tried to eat up all the chickens, and Uncle Wiggily also.
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