Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat
lady housekeeper, had his breakfast ready on the table.

Uncle Wiggily ate some cabbage pancakes with carrot maple sugar
sprinkled over them, and then as he wiped his whiskers on his red
tongue, which he used for a napkin, and as he twinkled his pink nose
to see if it was all right, Nurse Jane said:

"Yesterday, Uncle Wiggily, you told me you would like me to make
some lettuce cakes today; did you not?"

"I did," answered Uncle Wiggily, sort of slow and solemn like. "But
what is the matter, Nurse Jane? I hope you are not going to tell me
that you cannot, or will not, make those lettuce cakes."

"Oh, I'll make them, all right enough, Wiggy," the muskrat lady
answered, "only I have no lettuce. You will have to go to the store
for me."

"And right gladly will I go!" exclaimed the bunny uncle, speaking
like some one in an old-fashioned story book. "I'll get my
automobile out and go at once."

Uncle Wiggily had not used his machine often that Winter, as there
had been so much snow and ice. But now it was getting close to
Spring and the weather was very nice. There was no snow in the woods
and fields, though, of course, some might fall later.

"It will do my auto good to have me ride in it," said the bunny
uncle. He blew some hot air in the bologna sausage tires, put some
talcum powder on the steering-wheel so it would not catch cold, and
then, having tickled the whizzicum-whazzicum with a goose feather,
away he started for the lettuce store.

It did not take him long to get there, and, having bought a nice
head of the green stuff, the bunny uncle started back again for his
hollow-stump bungalow.

"Nurse Jane will make some fine lettuce cakes, with clover ice cream
cones on top," he said to himself, as he hurried along in his
automobile.

He had not gone very far, and he was about halfway home, when from
behind a bush he heard the sound of crying. Now, whenever Uncle
Wiggily heard any one crying he knew some one was in trouble, and as
he always tried to help those in trouble, he did it this time.
Stopping his automobile, he called:

"Who are you, and what is the matter? Perhaps I can help you."

Out from behind the bush came a boy, a nice sort of boy, except that
he was crying.

"Oh, are you Simple Simon?" asked Uncle Wiggily, "and are you crying
because you cannot catch a whale in your mother's water pail?"

"No; I am not Simple Simon," was the answer of the boy.

"Well, you