t," said the wise old bird, and then he
opened his little Black Book and, turning to page 23, he said:

"Let me read you something about pigeons."

"Why?" asked the little bunny, wiggling his little pink nose so fast
that old Professor Jim Crow's eyes filled with tears, and he had to take
off his spectacles and wipe them with his silk pocket handkerchief.

"Because," answered the old crow, "two pigeons have made their home in
the loft of your mother's old barn." Then he put on his spectacles again
and commenced to read aloud:

"Pigeons always lay two eggs, and these produce a male and a female, so
they are mated from birth, and, could they remain so, they would be the
happiest of winged beings."

And then the old professor closed his book and said, "Better hurry home
and see the new pigeons." So away hopped the little rabbit, clipperty
clip, lipperty lip, over the Sunny Meadow until, by and by, after
awhile, he came to the Old Bramble Patch. There stood his mother in the
backyard. She had just placed a pan of water under a tree for the
pigeons.

"Don't make any noise," she said, as the little rabbit drew near. Pretty
soon Mr. Pigeon flew down to taste the water, and by and by Mrs. Pigeon
fluttered down by his side.

"Cock-a-doodle-do,
Of pigeons we have two,
But some day there'll be dozens more
A-cooing by the old barn door,"

sang the old Red Rooster who had come over from Uncle John's to help
Mrs. Rabbit weed the carrot patch.

After that she and her little bunny boy hopped up on the front porch to
hear the canary bird in her gold cage sing:

"I wouldn't be a pigeon
And live in an old red barn,
I'd rather be here when the weather is drear
And watch Mrs. Bunny darn."

Which made the kind lady rabbit laugh, for she spent lots of time, let
me tell you, darning the holes in her little bunny boy's golf
stockings.

MISS PUSSY

The pumpkins in the cornfield
Are as yellow as can be,
And the apples, red and golden,
Are hanging on the tree,
The grapes in purple clusters
Are swinging on the vine,
And the old crow's nest is empty
Upon the lonely pine.

"Ha, ha," shouted Little Jack Rabbit, as Billy Breeze blew across the
Sunny Meadow, and, let me tell you, Billy Breeze was just a little bit
chilly, this cool November morning.

"I wonder what I'll do," thought the little rabbit, and he wiggled his
little pink nose sideways, and