Then little Jack Rabbit became somewhat frightened, for he had only meant to make a very small fire, and he thought this might turn into a big fire. Also, he remembered some things his mother had told him about playing with fire and about never going near a hot stove. He thought he'd better open the stove door a little to see if the fire was getting too big, but he was afraid to touch it with his fingers for fear of burning them. He had seen his mother use a stick or something to open the stove door when it was hot, so he picked up the first thing that came handy, which was the stick of sealing-wax. But when he touched it to the hot door the red stick sputtered a little and left a bright red spot on the stove door.
AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO—MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE
Then little Jack forgot all about putting up blackberries, admiring that beautiful red spot on the shiny black stove, and thinking how nice it would be to make some more like it, which he thought would improve the looks of the stove a great deal.
So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too—mostly on top of the stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made some on the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how pleased his mother would be when she got home and saw it. But then right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a black one; and, besides, she had told him never to play with fire.
LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED
And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single word that she wasn't at all pleased. So he began to cry very loud, and started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"—just sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every minute his mother would do something awful.