Danny brightened up at once.  “It’s funny how things come about in this world,” he began.  “The great-great-ever-so-great-grandfather of Limberheels, the first one, you know, was quite an ordinary Mouse when Old Mother Nature made him and started him out to make his way in the Great World.  He was little, one of the smallest of the family, and his tail was short, no longer than mine.  His hind legs were like those of all his relatives.  He ran about just as his relatives did.  He was so small and kept out of sight so much that he didn’t even have a name.  There was nothing about him to suggest a name.

“For a long time he was contented and happy.  Then one day he happened to see Mr. Hare jump.  It seemed to him the most wonderful thing in the world that any one should be able to jump like that.  So he began to spend most of his spare time where he could watch Mr. Hare.  One day Old Mother Nature happened along unseen by him, as he was watching Mr. Hare jump, and she overheard him say very, very wistfully, ’How I wish I could jump like that!  I wish I had long hind legs like Mr. Hare.’

“Old Mother Nature’s kindly eyes twinkled.  ‘That’s easily arranged,’ said she.  ’If you think long hind legs will be of more use to you than the ones you have, you shall have them.’

“The next morning when little Mr. Mouse awoke, he discovered that in the night something had happened to his hind legs.  They were very long and strong, regular jumping legs like those of Mr. Hare.  Of course he was in such a great hurry to try them that he couldn’t wait for his breakfast.  He began by making little short hops, and in no time at all he was getting about splendidly.  At last he got up his courage to try a long jump.  Up in the air he shot, and then something happened.  Yes, Sir, something happened.  He couldn’t kept his balance.  He turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.

“‘I guess,’ said he to himself, ’I’ve got to learn to make long jumps.’  So he kept trying and trying, but always with the same result—­he never knew when, where, or how he was going to land.  As long as he made short jumps he had no trouble, but every time he tried a long jump he lost his balance, and try as he would he couldn’t discover why.  So at last he gave up trying and contented himself with short jumps.  Finally Old Mother Nature came that way again.

“‘How do you like your long hind legs?’ she asked.

“‘Very much, thank you,’ replied little Mr. Mouse politely.

“‘Let me see you jump,’ said Old Mother Nature.

“Little Mr. Mouse made half a dozen little jumps.  They were not much more than hops.  ‘You don’t call that jumping, do you?’ laughed Old Mother Nature.  ’With such long, strong legs as I’ve given you, you ought to be one of the best jumpers anywhere about.  Now let me see you make a long jump.’

“Little Mr. Mouse tried his best to think of some excuse, but he couldn’t.  So he made a long jump, and the usual thing happened—­he turned two or three somersaults and landed on his back.  Old Mother Nature looked astonished.  Then she laughed until she had to hold her sides.  ‘Do it again,’ she commanded.