“I think he’s right,” remarked Mr. Rabbit. “It was the queerest tale I ever heard in all my life. You might sit and listen to tales from now until—well—until the first Tuesday before the last Saturday in the year seven hundred thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven, and you’d never hear another tale like it.”
“I don’t see why,” suggested Mrs. Meadows.
“Well,” replied Mr. Rabbit, chewing his tobacco very slowly, “there are more reasons than I have hairs in my head, but I’ll only give you three. In the first place, this Sparkle Spry doesn’t marry the king’s daughter. In the second place, he doesn’t live happily forever after; and in the third place”—Mr. Rabbit paused and scratched his head—“I declare, I’ve forgotten the third reason.”
“If it’s no better than the other two, it doesn’t amount to much,” said Mrs. Meadows. “There’s no reason why he shouldn’t have married the king’s daughter, if the king had a daughter, and if he didn’t live happily it was his own fault. Stories are not expected to tell everything.”
“Now, I’m glad of that,” exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, “truly glad. I’ve had a story on my mind for many years, and I’ve kept it to myself because I had an idea that in telling a story you had to tell everything.”
“Well, you were very much mistaken,” said Mrs. Meadows with emphasis.
“So it seems—so it seems,” remarked Mr. Rabbit.
“What was the story?” asked Buster John.
“I called it a story,” replied Mr. Rabbit, “but that is too big a name for it. I reckon you have heard of the time when Brother Lion had hair all over him as long and as thick as the mane he now has?”
But the children shook their heads. They had never heard of that, and even Mrs. Meadows said it was news to her.
“Now, that is very queer,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, filling his pipe slowly and deliberately1. “Very queer, indeed. Time and again I’ve had it on the tip of my tongue to mention this matter, but I always came to the conclusion that everybody knew all about it. Of course it doesn’t seem reasonable that Brother Lion went about covered from head to foot, and to the tip of his tail, with long, woolly hair; but, on the other hand, when he was first seen without his long, woolly hair, he was the laughing-stock of the whole district. I know mighty2 well he was the most miserable3 looking creature I ever saw.
“It was curious, too, how it happened,” Mr. Rabbit continued. “We were all living in a much colder climate than that in the country next door. Six months in the year there was ice in the river and snow on the ground, and them that didn’t lay up something to eat when the weather was open had a pretty tough time of it the rest of the year. Brother Lion’s long woolly hair belonged to the climate. But for that, he would have frozen to death, for he was a great hunter, and he had to be out in all sorts of weather.
“One season we had a tremendous spell of cold weather, the coldest I had ever felt. I happened to be out one day, browsing4 around, when I saw blue smoke rising a little distance off, so I says to myself, says I, I’ll go within smelling distance of the fire and thaw5 myself out. I went towards the smoke, and I soon saw that Mr. Man, who lived not far off, had been killing6 hogs7.
“Now, the funny thing about that hog-killing business,” continued Mr. Rabbit, leaning back in his chair and smacking8 his lips together, as old people will do sometimes, “was that, after the hogs were killed, Mr. Man had to get their hair off. I don’t know how people do now, but that was what Mr. Man did then. He had to get the hair off—but how? Well, he piled up wood, and in between the logs he placed rocks and stones. Then he dug a hole in the ground and half buried a hogshead, the open end tilted9 up a little higher than the other end. This hogshead he filled with as much water as it would hold in that position. Then he set fire to the pile of wood. As it burned, of course the rocks would become heated. These Mr. Man would take in a shovel10 and throw in the hogshead of water. The hot rocks would heat the water, and in this way the hogs were scalded so the hair on their hides could be scraped off.
“Well, the day I’m telling you about, Mr. Man had been killing hogs and scalding the hair off. When I got there the pile of wood had burned away, and Mr. Man had just taken his hogs home in his wagon11. The weather was very cold, and as I stood there warming myself I heard Brother Lion roaring a little way off. He had scented12 the fresh meat, and I knew he would head right for the place where the hogs had been killed.
“Now, Brother Lion had been worrying me a good deal. He had hired Brother Wolf to capture me, and Brother Wolf had failed. Then he hired Brother Bear, and Brother Bear got into deep trouble. Finally he hired Brother Fox, and I knew the day wasn’t far off when Mrs. Fox would have to hang crape on her door and go in mourning. All this had happened some time before, and I bore Brother Lion no good will.
“So, when I heard him in the woods singing out that he smelled fresh blood, I grabbed the shovel the man had left, and threw a dozen or so hot rocks in the hogshead, and then threw some fresh dirt on the fire. Presently Brother Lion came trotting
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XII. THE TERRIBLE HORSE.
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XIV. BROTHER LION HAS A SPELL OF SICKNESS.
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