“Oh, this is the end of me!” he cried, as he held fast to the sky-cracker.  “I’ll never live to find my fortune now.  When this thing explodes, I’ll be dashed to the ground and killed.”

The sky-cracker was whizzing and roaring, and black smoke was pouring out of one end, and Uncle Wiggily thought of all his friends whom he feared he would never see again, when all of a sudden along came flying the buzzing bumble bee, high in the air.  He was much surprised to see Uncle Wiggily skimming along on the tail of a sky-cracker.

“Oh, can’t you save me?” cried the rabbit.

“Indeed I will, if I can,” said the bee, “because you were so kind to me.  You are too heavy, or I would fly down to earth with you myself, but I’ll do the next best thing.  I’ll fly off and get Dickie and Nellie Chip-Chip, the sparrow children, and they’ll come with a big basket and catch you so you won’t fall.”

No sooner said than done.  Off flew the bee.  Quickly he found Dickie and Nellie and told them the danger Uncle Wiggily was in.

“Quick,” called Dickie to Nellie.  “We must save him.”

Off they flew like the wind, carrying a grocery basket between them.  Right under Uncle Wiggily they flew, and just as the sky-cracker was going to burst with a “slam-bang!” the old gentleman rabbit let go, and into the basket he safely fell and the sparrow children flew to earth with him.  Then the sky-cracker burst all to pieces for Fourth of July, but Uncle Wiggily wasn’t on it to be hurt, I’m glad to say.

He spent the Fourth visiting the Bumble bee’s family, and had ice cream and cake and lemonade for supper, and at night he heard the band play, and he gave Nellie and Dickie ten cents for ice cream sodas, and that’s all to this story.

But on the next page, if the baker man brings me a pound of soap bubbles with candy in the middle for Cora Janet’s doll, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the buttercup.

STORY VI

UNCLE WIGGILY AND BUTTERCUP

I hope none of you were burned by a sky-cracker or a Roman candle stick when you had your Fourth of July celebration, but if you were I hope you will soon be better, and perhaps if I tell you a story it will make you forget the pain.  So here we go, all about Uncle Wiggily and the buttercup.

The old gentleman rabbit spent a few days in an old burrow next to the bumble bee’s house, and then one morning, when the sun was shining brightly, he started off again to seek his fortune.

“I never can thank you enough,” he said to the bee, “for going after the sparrow children and saving me from the exploding sky-cracker.  If ever I find my fortune I will give you some of it.”

“Thank you very kindly,” said the bee, as she looked in the pantry, “and here are some sweet honey sandwiches for you to eat on your travels.  This is some honey that I made myself.”