David Cory is the author of over 50 children's book including the Little Jack Rabbit series and the Puss-in-Boots series. This is the fifth of the Little Jack Rabbit books.
By : David Cory (1872 - 1966)
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Uncle John Hare
"Heigh-ho," said Little Jack Rabbit to himself one bright morning, "how happy I'd be if I could find Uncle John Hare." And then, all of a sudden he came to a sign by the road on which was printed in big red letters:
"THREE MILES TO TURNIP CITY"
"Perhaps someone there can tell me where he lives," and the little rabbit set out with a brave heart once more, and pretty soon, not so very far, he came to a little house painted white, with green shutters and a red chimney. And, goodness me! Before he could say "Winky pinky" Uncle John Hare himself opened the door.
"How did you get here all by yourself? It's a long way from the Old Bramble Patch," inquired the old gentleman rabbit.
Well, you can imagine how glad the little tired bunny was to find his uncle, and for a long time he for got to ask him how he came to leave the Sunny Meadow, and why he had bought this little house in Turnip City. But, by and by, his uncle explained it all by saying he wished to pass the rest of his days in quiet, far away from the Farmer's Boy and Danny Fox.
"Now come around to the back of the house and I'll show you my little garage," said the old gentleman bunny. "I have a Bunnymobile that goes so fast you can't count the miles before you are home again." Wasn't that a wonderful automobile to have? Well, I just guess it was. And after the little rabbit had looked it over his uncle took him back in the house and showed him the little room which was to be his as long as he lived in Turnip City.
"Won't we have fine times together!" said the old gentleman rabbit, with a laugh. "I've been waiting for just this happy moment. You and I can travel all over together in sunshiny, snow-falling, rain-wetting weather." And he slapped the little bunny's back and gave a hop, skip and jump to one side, and then laughed some more, for he was as happy as a clam at high tide, as an old fisherman used to say when I was a boy not so very long ago, but just long enough to make me wish I were twenty years younger, just the samee.
Well, after a while, it was bedtime, and the cuckoo came out of her little clock-house and said:
"Time for bed, you sleepy head,
Don't sit up too late.
It won't be long before my song
Will make the clock strike eight."
And in the next story you shall hear what happened after that.
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