UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE VIOLETS
Down in the kitchen of the hollow stump bungalow there was a great clattering of pots and pans. Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman who lived in the bungalow, sat up in bed, having been awakened by the noise, and he said:
“Well, I wonder what Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy is doing now? She certainly is busy at something, and it can’t be making the breakfast buckwheat cakes, either, for she has stopped baking them.”
“I say, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy, what’s going on down in your kitchen?” called the rabbit gentleman out loud.
“I’m washing,” answered the muskrat lady.
“Washing what; the dishes?” the bunny uncle wanted to know. “If you wash them as hard as it sounds, there won’t be any of them left for dinner, and I haven’t had my breakfast yet.”
“No, I’m getting ready to wash the clothes, and I wish you’d come down and eat, so I can clear away the table things!” called the muskrat lady.
“Oh, dear! Clothes-washing!” cried Uncle Wiggily, making his pink nose twinkle in a funny way. “I don’t like to be around the bungalow when that is being done. I guess I’ll get my breakfast and go for a walk. Clothes have to be washed, I suppose,” went on the rabbit gentleman, “and when Nurse Jane has been ill I have washed them myself, but I do not like it. I’ll go off in the woods.”
And so, having had his breakfast of carrot pudding, with turnip sauce sprinkled over the top, Uncle Wiggily took his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and hopped along.
The woods were getting more and more beautiful every day as the weather grew warmer. The leaves on the trees were larger, and here and there, down in the green moss, that was like a carpet on the ground, could be seen wild flowers growing up.
“I wonder what sort of an adventure I will have today?” thought the bunny uncle as he went on and on. “A nice one, I hope.”
And, as he said this, Uncle Wiggily heard some voices speaking.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed a sad little voice, “no one will ever see us here! Of what use are we in the world? We are so small that we cannot be noticed. We are not brightly colored, like the red rose, and all that will happen to us will be that a cow will come along and eat us, or step on us with her big foot.”
“Hush! You musn’t talk that way,” said another voice. “You were put here to grow, and do the best you know how. Don’t be finding fault.”
“I wonder who can be talking?” said Uncle Wiggily. “I must look around.” So he looked up in the air, but though he heard the leaves whispering he knew they had not spoken. Then he looked to the right, to the left, in front and behind, but he saw no one. Then he looked down, and right at his feet was a clump of blue violet flowers.
“Did you speak?” asked Uncle Wiggily of the violets.
“Yes,” answered one who had been finding fault. “I was telling my sisters and brothers that we are of no use in the world. We just grow up here in the woods, where no one sees us, and we never can have any fun. I want to be a big, red rose and grow in a garden.”