That's what they are. And to think, too, that their
great-grandparents might have come here when I did. But, no! They
wouldn't hear to it. No new country for them, they said. And so they
stayed where they were, and the breed has dwindled down to--to
nothing. I'll be bound they have forgotten how to talk." He turned to
the children with a look of inquiry.

"Why, of course, rabbits can't talk," said Buster John.

Mr. Rabbit shook his head sadly and put his hand to his eyes. "Well,
well, well!" he exclaimed after a while. "Can't talk! But I might have
known it. The family's gone to seed. I'm glad I'm not there to see it
all. A neighbor here and there does no harm, but when people began to
crowd in I concluded to move, and I'm glad I did. I'm old and getting
feeble, but, thank gracious, I'm not a Runt."

"I don't see but you're as nimble as ever you were," remarked Mrs.
Meadows soothingly.

"I know--I know!" Mr. Rabbit insisted; "I may be as nimble, but I'm
not as keen for a frolic as I used to be. The chimney-corner suits me
better than a barbecue." Mr. Rabbit closed his big eyes and sighed.
"Well, well--everybody to his time, everybody to his taste!"

Mrs. Meadows nodded her head approvingly. "Yes; between first one
thing and then another, there's lots of time and a heap of tastes."

"They tell me," remarked Mr. Rabbit suddenly, "that things have got to
that pass in the country we came from that even Mr. Billy-Goat, who
used to eat meat, has dwindled away in mind and body till he hangs
around the stable doors and eats straw for a living. That's what Mr.
Thimblefinger says, and he ought to know. I suppose Billy is still
bob-tailed? I remember the very day he had his tail broken off."

"Tell us about it," remarked Buster John.

WHY MR. BILLY-GOAT'S TAIL IS SHORT.

"Oh, it doesn't amount to much," said he. "It's hardly worth talking
about. I think it was one Saturday. In those days, you know, we used
to have a half-holiday every Saturday. We worked hard all the week,
and we tried to crowd as much fun into a half-holiday as possible.
Well, one Saturday afternoon Mr. Billy-Goat and Mr. Dog were walking
arm in arm along the road, talking and laughing in a sociable way,
when all of a sudden a big rain came up. Mr. Billy-Goat said he was
mighty sorry he left his parasol at home, because the rain was apt to
make his horns rust. Mr. Dog shook himself and said he didn't mind
water, because when he got wet the fleas quit