But oh, the years have flown since then,
Way back in ’63,
And only my old wedding hat
Is left to lonely me.”
Then up jumped dear, tender-hearted Uncle Lucky, and wiping the tears in his left eye, took down his old wedding stovepipe hat and carefully dusted it off with his blue silk polkadot handkerchief.
All of a sudden the telephone bell began to ring.
“Who’s calling me?” inquired the old gentleman bunny, taking down the receiver and holding it up to his left ear.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said the next moment. “Well, I don’t want to talk to you—no, I don’t. You make me cross,” and with that Uncle Lucky hung up the receiver and hopped back to his big comfortable armchair.
“Who was it?” asked Little Miss Mousie, running across the floor to the piano stool, up which she climbed. Then, smoothing her bobbed hair, she smiled sweetly at the old gentleman bunny.
“Chatterbox, the red squirrel,” answered Uncle Lucky. “He has a funny story to tell me, but my rheumatism won’t listen to anything, so I excused myself. Dear me, how my little left hind toe aches. I must be careful or I’ll be full of crossness.”