“Little Rabbit!” said his mother, the next morning, “run down to the postoffice and see if there’s a letter for me.” So the little rabbit put on his khaki cap and his little knapsack and started off, and by and by, after a while, he came to Rabbitville, where the postoffice stood on the corner of Place and Corn Cob Lane.  
“Is there a letter for Mrs. John Rabbit, Old Bramble Patch, Rail Fence Corner, U. S. A.?” he asked the lady postmistress, an old maid who worked for Uncle Sam in the winter and in the summer played in the wheat field.
 
“I think there is,” she said, looking in box 13, and, sure enough, there was. Then she handed the letter to the little rabbit, and shut the door of the little window and after that she took out her vanity bag and powdered her nose.
 
The little rabbit put the letter in his knapsack and started home, but just as he reached the Shady Forest, whom should he see but Squirrel Nutcracker. The old gray squirrel had come out of his hollow tree for a little run in the sun. You see, on cold days he curled himself up in a ball and kept very quiet, but on warm days he came out and jumped from limb to limb to get the out of his leg muscles.
 
“Where are you going............