“What are you doing on my nice, green grass?” growled the dog, real savage-like.

“If you please, Mr. Dog, we didn’t know this was your grass,” said Sister Sallie, timidly.

“Of course it is!” snapped the dog.  “I go to sleep here on it every day.  Anyway what do you mean by taking the leaves off my trees?” he growled again.

“If you please, kind sir,” spoke Brighteyes, “we didn’t know they were your trees.”

“Certainly they are,” replied the dog, snapping his eyes open and shut.  “Those leaves keep the sun off me while I sleep.  Now I’m going to eat you all up for taking my things!” and he jumped right at them.

But land sakes, flopsy dub!  Before he could bite either Brighteyes or Sister Sallie, who should appear, but Percival, the good, old circus dog.

“Here, you let my friends alone!” he barked, and he jumped on that bad dog, and nipped both his ears well, let me tell you.  Then the bad dog ran away, howling, and Percival took care of Sister Sallie and Brighteyes until it was time for them to go home.  Now in the story after this one I’m going to tell you about Dr. Pigg and Uncle Wiggily—­that is if my furnace fire doesn’t go out in the street roller-skating with the coal man.

STORY VI

DR. PIGG AND UNCLE WIGGILY

Some one knocked on the door of the pen where Dr. Pigg and his wife and Buddy and Brighteyes lived one day.  “Rat-a-tat-tat,” went the rapping.

“My!  I wonder who that can be?” exclaimed Mrs. Pigg.  “Run and see, will you, Buddy, like a good boy?”

So Buddy hurried to the door, and whom should be see standing there but Uncle Wiggily Longears, the old gentleman rabbit; and Uncle Wiggily had rapped with his crutch, which had made the funny sound.

“Why, how d’do!” exclaimed Dr. Pigg as soon as he saw who it was.  “Come right in Uncle Wiggily!  This is an unexpected pleasure.  Brighteyes, get a chair for Uncle Wiggily.  Buddy, you take his crutch.  Mrs. Pigg, haven’t we some of that new cabbage preserved in maple sugar?  Bring out a bit for our friend!”

My! you should have seen what a bustling about there was in the pen, and all because Uncle Wiggily had come and because every one was fond of him.  Buddy started to take the old gentleman rabbit’s crutch, but Uncle Wiggily cried: 

“Oh, no!  Don’t!  Not for worlds!  Oh, my, no! and an ice cream cone besides!  Oh, lobster salad, no!”

“Why, whatever is the matter?” exclaimed Dr. Pigg.

“Oh, my!  Ouch!  Oh, shingles!” cried Uncle Wiggily, as he stepped up over the doorsill.  “Oh, dear me, and a baseball bat!  It’s my rheumatism, as usual.  It’s something awful, these days.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” cried Brighteyes Pigg.

“And so am I,” added Buddy, and they all were, for that matter.

“Rheumatism, eh?” remarked Dr. Pigg, thoughtful-like.