And all the birds on bush and tree
Are singing songs for you and me.
“Ha, ha,” laughed Little Jack Rabbit, as he hopped over the Sunny Meadow, “I wonder if Timmie Meadowmouse is home.”
Pretty soon the little bunny stopped before a round grass ball that hung between three strong stalks.
“Timmie Meadowmouse!” he shouted, “come out and play!” Pretty soon a tiny head peeked out of the grass house and a little voice answered:
“Oh, it’s you, is it?”
“Yes, it’s me,” replied Little Jack Rabbit, although he should have said, “It’s I.” But what do we care? Teacher isn’t around and school will soon be over and we will be in clover.
“What do you want?” asked the little meadowmouse, jumping down to the ground. “How is Uncle Lucky?”
“He’s all right,” answered the little bunny. “Have you heard what a dreadful time we had with Hungry Hawk?”
“No, tell me about it,” replied Timmie Meadowmouse. “Dear me, how I do hate that wicked bird. He’s always flying over the Sunny Meadow, looking here and looking there. But I always try to be here when he’s looking there,” and Timmie Meadowmouse winked his eye like a wise little mouse boy.