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Sure enough it was time for Bunnies to wake up because it was sunrise. Tippy Toes helped to get breakfast. He went to the well to draw water. He began to sing a little fairy song, "Ding, dong bell, Pussy's in the well." "Poor Pussy, I wonder if she is still in the well," he said. He peeped down to look into the well. Papa Cotton-Tail called, "Hurry, hurry, it is time for breakfast."
Here, and in the main saloon, all was deposited for the time being. There was a woman with a fine grey cat, for which she had been offered fifty dollars, wrapped in a warm shawl, much to pussy's disgust. A number of women had dogs and were weeping, probably at leaving other canines behind.
"I have found," he says, "as a result of many years of inquiry and study, that people who keep cats and are in the habit of petting them, do not suffer from those petty ailments which all flesh is heir to. Rheumatism and nervous complaints are uncommon with them, and Pussy's lovers are of the sweetest temperament.
So he stayed in the briar bush that night and had berries for breakfast, and the next day he had another adventure. What it was I will tell you on the page after this one, when the bedtime story will be about Uncle Wiggily and the camp fire that is, if the cat across the street doesn't untie the pink ribbon off our pussy's neck and put it on his ice cream cone.
In a few minutes, and when I appeared safely absorbed in my paper, he made his way slowly to where pussy was lapping her saucer of milk; passing her without stopping, he cleverly discharged the hated mouthful into pussy's milk, and continuing his walk to the rug, laid himself down and slept the sleep of the just. Perhaps you will allow me to add another to your interesting list of dog stories.
'Because if it was, I'd take the lead with you, Jack, and be as wise as Begone, dull Care! that turned a young man gray, and Begone, dull Care! that turned an old man to clay. Halloa, Jack! Don't drink. 'Why not? 'Asks why not, on Pussy's birthday, and no Happy returns proposed! Pussy, Jack, and many of 'em! Happy returns, I mean.
Only Pussy's sled was not tied to her brother's, for he feared lest the straining and shocks that often took place in this kind of coasting might prove dangerous to her. She followed, therefore, as usual; but Otto could not stop his sled if she was delayed, for he had to go on with the "train." Off they went, and the long chain reached the bottom safely and happily.
And probably there would be no chance at all for the kissing and all the rest. It was Pussy's clever way of effectually disposing of Archie. She understood that. Adelle stayed awake for several hours, a most unusual occurrence, revolving matters in her confused mind.
Archibald was brought to the grave, which he had so pathetically haunted before his metamorphosis, not many weeks after the metamorphosis occurred; and every means was used to revive in him some recollection of the bereavement; they even went so far as to uncover poor pussy's remains.... Archibald was first unconscious and indifferent, then curious, finally disgusted.
Pete promptly turned around three times in the opposite direction to that in which the cat had gone and calmly entered, secure in his belief that he had broken pussy's dark spell. He was afflicted with rheumatism, which prevented him from prospecting. At length he figured out the cause of his trouble and a cure for it.
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