“Yes, I’ll pull the kite down,” said the babboon.
“Maybe you will,” thought Uncle Wiggily, laughing to himself. “And maybe you won’t.”
The bad babboon monkey chap unwound the string from the stump, but no sooner had he started to pull in the kite than there came a very strong puff of wind.
Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon’s paws, it took him up with it, and though he cried out: “Stop! Stop! Stop!” the kite could not stop, nor the babboon either.
[Illustration: Up, up and up into the air blew the kite and, as the string was tangled around the babboon’s paws, it took him up with it.]
“Well, I guess you won’t bother me any more,” said Uncle Wiggily, as he looked at the babboon, who was only a speck in the sky now; a very little speck, being carried away by the kite.
And the babboon did not come back to bother Uncle Wiggily, at least for a long time. Tommie felt badly when he found his kite blown away. But he was glad Uncle Wiggily had been saved, and he and the bunny uncle soon made a new kite, better than the first. They had lots of fun flying it.
And in the story after this, if the chocolate pudding doesn’t hide in the coal bin, where the cook can’t find it to put the whipped cream on, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and Johnnie’s marbles.
UNCLE WIGGILY AND JOHNNIE’S MARBLES
It was a nice, warm spring day, when the ground in the woods where the animal boys and girls lived was soft, for all the frost had melted out of it; and, though it was a little too early to go barefoot, it was not too early to play marbles.
Johnnie and Billie Bushytail, the squirrels; Sammie Littletail, the rabbit, and Jimmie Wibblewobble, the duck, were having a game under the trees, not far from the hollow stump bungalow which was the house of Uncle Wiggily Longears, the bunny gentleman.
“First shot agates!” cried Johnnie.
“No, I’m going to shoot first!” chattered his brother Billie.
“Huh! I hollered it before either of you,” quacked Jimmie, the duck boy, and he tossed some red, white and blue striped marbles on the ground in the ring. The marbles were just the color of Uncle Wiggily’s rheumatism crutch.
The animal boys began playing, but they made so much noise, crying “Fen!” and “Ebbs!” and “Knuckle down!” that Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady housekeeper, went to the bungalow door and called:
“Boys! Boys! Will you please be a little quiet? Uncle Wiggily is lying down taking a nap, and I don’t want you to wake him up with your marbles.”
“Oh, I don’t mind!” cried the bunny uncle, unfolding his ears from his vest pockets, where he always tucked them when he went to sleep, so the flies would not tickle him. “It’s about time I got up,” he said.