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MR. RABBIT EXPLAINS
AN EASTER STORY

"Now tell me the rabbit story," commanded the Little Lady on the next evening. "You know you promised to."

"So I did," said the Story Teller, "and it goes this way: – "

"One afternoon in the early spring Mr. Jack Rabbit and his friends were out for an airing. The Hollow Tree people were along, and Mr. Turtle, as usual. By and by they came to a log under a big tree and sat down for a smoke and talk. They talked about the weather at first and other things, till somebody mentioned Easter. Then they all had something to say about that.

"'What I object to,' says Mr. Rabbit, when it came his time to talk, 'is this thing of people always saying that the Easter eggs belong to me.'

"'Oh, but that's just a joke,' says Mr. 'Coon, laughing.

"'I know it's just a joke, of course, but it's a pretty old joke, and I'm tired of it,' says Jack Rabbit.

"'How did it get started anyway?' asked Mr. 'Possum.

"Then Mr. Rabbit took his pipe out of his mouth and leaned forward a little, so he could talk better.

"'I tell you how it got started,' he says, 'and after that I don't want to hear any more of it. This is how it happened: —

"'Once upon a time, as much as twenty grandmothers back, I should think, there was a very nice family of Rabbits that lived in a grassy place on a hillside back of a big farmyard. There was quite a hole in the ground there, and they had a cosy home in it, and a soft bed for their little folk."

"'Now, every bright morning, Father and Mother Rabbit used to take the children out for a walk, and for a few lessons in running and hiding from Mr. Dog, who bothered about a good deal, and one day as they were coming home they heard a great cackling, and when they got to their house there was a nice fresh egg lying right in the children's bed. Some old hen from the farmyard had slipped in and laid it while they were gone. A good many hens, especially old hens, like to hide their nests that way, and this was one of that kind.

"'Well, of course all the young Rabbits claimed it, and Mother Rabbit at last gave it to the smallest and weakest one of the children, a little girl, who was always painting things with the juice of flower petals. And the very first thing that little girl did was to stain that egg all over with violet juice, not thinking what trouble it was going to cause our family forever after.

"'It was a nice blue egg when she got through with it, and the next day, when they all came back from their walk again there was another white egg right by it. The old hen had been there again and laid another while they were gone. The second little girl claimed that egg, of course, and she painted it a bright yellow with buttercup juice. Then the next day there was another egg, and the next day there was another egg, and the next day there was another egg, until there was one apiece for every one of the children, and some over."

"'And they all painted them. Some painted theirs pink or red with roseleaves or japonica, some painted them yellow with buttercups, and some blue or purple with violets, as the first little girl had done. They had so many at last that it crowded them out of their bed, and they had to sleep on the floor.

"'And then, one Sunday, and it must have been Easter Sunday, they all went out walking again, and when they came back every one of those beautiful colored eggs was gone. The children cried and made a great fuss, but it was no use. Some of Mr. Man's boys out hunting hen's nests had found them and taken them all home with them.

"'And of course all those colored eggs set Mr. Man to wondering, and he came with his boys to the place where they had found them; and when they looked in out jumped the whole Rabbit family, helter skelter in every direction."

"'And right then,' said Mr. Rabbit, leaning over to light his pipe from Mr. 'Possum's, 'right then Mr. Man declared those colored eggs were rabbit eggs, and he's kept on saying so ever since, though he knows better, and he knows I don't like it. He takes eggs and colors them himself now, and makes believe they're mine, and he puts my picture all over things about Easter time. I suppose he thinks I don't care, but I do, and I wish that little Miss Rabbit twenty grandmothers back had left that old hen's egg white as she found it.'

"'It's too bad,' says Mr. Crow. 'It's like that story they tell about the fox making me drop the cheese.'

"'Or like Mr. Man making believe that the combs he uses are really made out of my shell,' says Mr. Turtle.

"Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum shook their heads. They had their troubles, too."

MR. TURTLE'S THUNDER STORY
THE WAY OF THE FIRST THUNDER AND LIGHTNING

Once upon a time, said the Story Teller, when the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum lived together in three big, hollow branches of a big big, hollow tree in the big, big, Big Deep Woods, and used to meet and have good times together in the parlor down stairs, they had Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle in for supper. It was a nice supper, too, for it was just about strawberry time, and strawberries grow thicker in the Big Deep Woods than fur on a kitten's back. Mr. Crow, who is a great cook, had made a nice shortcake, and been over to Mr. Man's pantry, where he gets some of his best things, and borrowed a pail of sweet cream when Mr. Man wasn't at home.

"Of course they had fried chicken, too, first, and by the time they were through their shortcake and had lit their pipes Mr. 'Possum, who likes good things better than anybody, almost, could hardly open his eyes. He said he wished he was a poet, like Mr. Jack Rabbit, for he had never been so full of summer happiness since he was born, and if he could only make rhymes, he knew that poetry would slip right off his tongue. Then, of course, Mr. Rabbit wanted to show off, and without stopping a second he commenced to talk poetry – this way: —

 
"In the summer time I make a rhyme
For every breeze that passes,
For I can always make it chime
With lassies, grasses, sasses."
 

"Mr. 'Possum said he couldn't do that if it was to save him from being hung the next minute, and Mr. Rabbit went right on without catching his breath: —

 
"Where e'er I go my verses flow —
I keep it up for hours.
I'm never short of rhymes, you know,
With bowers, flowers, showers."
 

"Well, that set them all to wondering how Jack Rabbit could do it so easily, and Mr. Rabbit didn't think to tell them how he'd sat up all the night before to compose this poetry, so's to have it on hand and ready for a chance to use it. He said that it was somebody else's turn now, and that maybe Mr. Turtle would give them a performance of some kind. Mr. Turtle wanted to change the subject, and got up and walked over to the window. He said that, speaking of showers, it was so warm and close, he shouldn't wonder if they had one before morning. He said he believed there was lightning now, off in the west, and seemed like he could hear it thunder, too. Then they all talked about thunder and lightning and what they were. But nobody seemed to know except Mr. Turtle himself.

"'Why,' he said, 'I thought everybody knew that!' Then he went on to say that he'd known the story ever since he wasn't 'any bigger than a pants button,' and all the others said he must tell it to them, because it was his turn, anyway. And Mr. Turtle was glad to do that, for he really wanted to show off a little, like Jack Rabbit, only he hadn't known before how to do it. So he filled up his pipe nice and fresh, and lit it, and began.

"'Well,' he said, 'of course you know my family all live to be pretty old. I'm only three hundred and sixteen next spring myself, but Uncle Tom Turtle, who lives up by the forks, is a good deal over nine hundred, and he isn't nearly as old as Father Storm Turtle and his wife, who live up in the Big West Hills, and make the thunder and lightning.'

"Mr. Turtle stopped a minute to light his pipe again, and all the others just looked at him and couldn't say a word. They knew he was pretty old, but they had never thought much about it before, and what he said about Father and Mother Storm Turtle they had never even heard of. But Mr. Turtle just lit his pipe, and puffed, and said: —

"'To tell the truth, I never did hear of any of our family dying of old age, and I shouldn't wonder if Old Man Turtle Himself would still be alive, too, if he hadn't tried to swallow a mussel fish with the shell on and got it stuck in his throat a million and twenty-five years ago last spring. Anyhow, that's according to the date cut on his shell overcoat that Uncle Tom Turtle saw once at Father Storm's house up in the Big West Hills.

"'I don't know how many great grandfathers back Father Storm is from me, nor how many from Father Storm Old Man Turtle Himself was, but I know Father Storm got his shell overcoat after the mussel fish wouldn't go down, and that it was a great deal too big to take in the house, and it used to set out in the yard on four bricks, for the children to play under.

"'Father Storm Turtle had a big family then, and they were pretty troublesome. They had a habit of wandering off in the woods and forgetting to come back. Every night Mother Storm had to stand in the door and call and call and not be able to sleep if they didn't come, especially when it was cloudy and looked like rain. She knew that, if they got wet they'd all come home with bad colds and sore throats and make trouble and expense. Three of them – named Slop, Splash and Paddle – were worse than any of the others, for even when it didn't rain they were always playing in dirty puddles, and would come home all mud and with wet feet.'"

MR. TURTLE'S THUNDER STORY
CONTINUED
FATHER STORM'S PLAN AND HOW IT WORKED

"At last, one day, when Mother Storm Turtle had shouted herself hoarse and couldn't make any of them hear, she said she wouldn't put up with it any longer, and that Father Storm had got to fix up some way to call those children home when she wanted them, especially when it was going to rain, as it was now. So Father Storm went out into the front yard and sat down and looked at the clouds and thought and thought."

"All at once, just as he was about to give it up, he happened to be looking right at the shell of Old Man Turtle Himself. He jumped up quick and hit it with his cane, and when it made quite a loud sound he laughed, for he knew, now, how he could make those children hear when he wanted them. He didn't say a word to Mother Storm Turtle, but went right to work and dug two holes and put up two tall posts in the yard and fastened a stout beam across the top of them. Then he worked until he had bored a hole in one end of the shell of Old Man Turtle Himself, and put a chain in it and dragged it over and strung it up between the posts, so that it swung there and didn't quite touch the ground. That, of course, made a thing a good deal like Mr. Man's dinner gong, only a hundred times as big, and about a thousand times as loud. Then Father Storm went out into the woodhouse to make a club to beat it with, laughing to himself now and then when he thought how Mother Storm Turtle would most have a fit when she heard it for the first time.

"But while Father Storm Turtle was doing so much, Mother Storm had been thinking and doing some herself. She was getting supper, and when she looked into the fire to put in a stick of wood, she just happened to think that if she could make a torch big enough and bright enough, when she stood in the door and waved it, those children would see the light, especially nights when it was dark just before a heavy rain. So she went right to work and made one, just as big as she could make it, and put lots of oil and fat on it, to make it bright. She laughed to think how Father Storm Turtle would jump when she waved that out the door, and how the children would come running when they saw the big flash. Then she noticed that it was getting darker and darker and would rain in a minute. So she hurried up and lit it and stepped to the door and gave it a great big swing. And just that second Father Storm hit the shell of Old Man Turtle Himself with a big hickory club, and there was never such a light nor such a roar in the world as that was.

"Mother Storm Turtle tumbled over backward and set the house afire with her torch, and Father Storm was so frightened by the big light that at first he couldn't help her put the fire out. And just then it began raining like forty, and all the children came running and screaming out of the woods, half scared to death by the big light and noise. It made a terrible commotion there for a few minutes, until they got the fire put out, and people heard it all over the country, even to Mr. Man's house. And when they found out what it was, and who started it, everybody called it a 'storm.' And rain and wind and thunder and lightning, or most any other kind of a big fuss, is called a 'storm' to this day, after Father and Mother Storm Turtle."

"And that," said Mr. Turtle, lighting his pipe once more, "was the first thunder and lightning, and whenever people saw it after that they said, 'We're going to have another storm!' For Father and Mother Storm Turtle went right on using the big torch and the shell of Old Man Turtle Himself to call in the children just before a rain, and the children would come running every time, all except Slop, Splash and Paddle, who got so at last that they liked the mud and dirty water better than anything else. They liked the mud so well that Father Storm told them one day they might go and live in the mud and be named Mud for all he cared; and so they did, and their names were Mud, and they and all their families live in dirty water and are called Mud Turtles to this day. They never went home again, but whenever they hear Father Storm pounding on the shell, they stop whatever they are doing and listen. And that's how the saying began that 'a Mud Turtle never lets go till it thunders.'"

"What makes the noise always get louder and the light brighter just before it rains?" asked Jack Rabbit.

"Why, you see," said Mr. Turtle, "Father and Mother Storm's grandchildren and great-grandchildren are a good deal scattered now, and as the old people run the thunder and lightning mostly on their account, they try to make it just about bright enough and loud enough to keep up with the rain wherever it goes."

"It's plenty loud enough," said Mr. 'Coon solemnly.

"And plenty bright enough," said Mr. Crow, blinking.

"What makes it set things on fire sometimes?" asked Mr. 'Possum sleepily.

"That's when Mother Storm Turtle swings her torch too hard and coals fly out of it," said Mr. Turtle, as he got up and walked over to the window.

Then the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum and Jack Rabbit got up, too, and walked over, and they all looked out together. It was dark among the trees below them, and Mr. Turtle pointed off toward the Big West Hills.

"You see," he said, speaking low, "Mother Storm is beginning to swing her torch, and you'll hear Father Storm pounding before long on the shell of Old Man Turtle Himself."

So the five friends stood very still and listened and pretty soon they did hear a low far off rumble, sure enough.

"That means it's time to start for home," said Mr. Jack Rabbit, reaching for his hat and cane.

Mr. Turtle reached for his hat and cane, too, and they felt their way down the dim stairs, with Mr. 'Coon holding a candle, and Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Possum looking after them.

"Good night, everybody," said Mr. Turtle.

"Push the latch string in from the outside," called Mr. Crow. "Then, I won't have to come down."

 
"All right!
Good night!"
 

called back Jack Rabbit.

"Good night! Come again!" called the Crow and the 'Coon and the 'Possum.

A RAIN IN THE NIGHT
A WINDOW THAT WASN'T CLOSED, AND WHO CLOSED IT

The night was warm in the Hollow Tree. Jack Rabbit and Mr. Turtle, who had been spending the evening with the 'Coon and 'Possum and the Old Black Crow, had hurried off to their homes, so as to get there before the rain set in.

They had all stood by an open parlor window and seen it coming over the Big West Hills, and the visitors knew they'd catch it if they didn't hurry. Mr. Crow and the others had watched them down stairs, and called to Jack Rabbit to push in the latch string, which would fasten the door from the outside. Then Mr. 'Possum had taken his candle, and Mr. 'Coon had taken his candle, and Mr. Crow had taken his candle, and each had gone up to his own room and scrambled into bed quick, so's to be able to cover up his head when it thundered.

Well, they hadn't any more than all gone to bed before Mr. Crow suddenly happened to remember that, being in such a hurry, none of them had thought to close the parlor window, and it would rain in as sure as the world. There was a little table close to the window, with some of his best things on it, too, and if it rained in they would all get wet and be spoiled. He thought about this twice, and maybe more than twice, and the more he thought about it the less he wanted to get up and close that window. Then, all at once, there came a flash of lightning and low growling thunder. Down he bobbed under the covers, and this made him want to get up less than ever. He knew, though, that it would be raining hard pretty soon, and spoiling his things. He had to do something right off.

So, after thinking a minute, he sat up in bed and called out:

"Oh, Mr. 'Coon! You forgot to close the parlor window. It will rain in on your things."

But Mr. 'Coon called back:

"It won't hurt MY things, Mr. Crow. They're over on the other side of the room."

And Mr. 'Possum, who was sitting up in bed, too, listened and laughed in the dark.

But just then there was another flash of lightning, and Mr. Crow bobbed down, and Mr. 'Coon bobbed down, and Mr. 'Possum bobbed down, so's not to hear the thunder. Then, pretty soon, Mr. Crow sat up in bed again and called out:

"Oh, Mr. 'Possum! You forgot to close the parlor window. It will rain in on your things."

But Mr. 'Possum called back:

"It won't hurt MY things, Mr. Crow. They're all over by the stairs."

And Mr. 'Coon, who was sitting up in bed, listened and laughed in the dark, too.

Then for a minute Mr. Crow didn't know but that he'd have to go down and shut that window himself, after all. And while he was thinking how much he didn't want to, there came another flash of lightning, brighter than ever, and Mr. Crow and Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum all bobbed down again and covered up their heads, so's not to hear the thunder. But Mr. Crow heard it a little, anyway, and it set him to thinking. So when he sat up again he called out:

"Oh, Mr. 'Coon, did Jack Rabbit push in the latch string down stairs?"

And Mr. 'Coon called back:

"I s'pose so, Mr. Crow. You told him to. Why?"

"Oh, nothing, only he left in a great hurry, and I thought maybe he didn't get it quite in."

And Mr. 'Possum listened again, but this time he didn't laugh.

Then Mr. Crow called out to him, too:

"Oh, Mr. 'Possum, did Mr. Rabbit push in the latch string when he left?"

And Mr. 'Possum called back:

"I don't know, Mr. Crow. But you told him to. Why?"

"Oh, nothing; only I heard something just now that sounded like Mr. Dog barking and coming this way."

And Mr. 'Coon listened again, too, but he didn't laugh any this time, either.

And just then there was another flash of lightning, a good deal brighter than any of the other flashes, and down went Mr. Crow again, and down went Mr. 'Coon again, and down went Mr. 'Possum again, so's not to hear it thunder. But they did hear it, even under the bedclothes, and being covered up that way, and thinking about Mr. Dog anyhow, made it sound to them exactly like Mr. Dog's voice barking and growling, and coming closer and closer and closer.

And when Mr. 'Coon and Mr. 'Possum heard that they didn't wait another minute. They just threw back the covers, both of them, and piled out of bed and made a rush for that down stairs door, as if Mr. Dog was right behind them, sure enough. And of course neither one knew the other had started, and when they got to the head of the stairs they bumped together in the dark, and down they went, over and over, to the bottom. There was a little flash of lightning just as they got there, and they saw that Mr. Rabbit had pushed in the latch string after all.

Then they felt foolish, and each began to blame the other for making him fall down stairs, and both of them said they knew all the time the door was fastened, and that they weren't afraid of Mr. Dog, anyway. They'd only got up, they said, to shut the parlor window, and they did shut it, both together, as they came back. Then they ran up to their beds quick, while Mr. Crow, who had been listening all the time, laid down and rolled over and laughed and laughed in the dark.

And just then there came another big, bright flash, and down under the covers went all three of them, so's not to hear it thunder. They stayed under a good while that time, and when they put their heads out again the shower had commenced, and the thunder was passing over.

So then, pretty soon, the 'Possum and the 'Coon and the Old Black Crow all dropped off to sleep to the sound of the rain falling among the leaves and branches of the Hollow Tree.