“You bet you have!” exclaimed Uncle Lucky. “You better go home to Mrs. Hawk and lead a better life hereafter.”
“Dear me! I wish I could,” answered Hungry Hawk, “I’ve got an awful headache. The Old Red Rooster hit me three times with the wooden mallet.”
Just then who should hop into the barn but the Policeman Dog. I wonder how he found out what was going on?
“You wicked bird! I’ve a good notion to shoot you,” he shouted, pulling his gun from his hip pocket.
“Don’t shoot!” begged Hungry Hawk, his tail feathers twitching and his eyes blinking with fright. My, but he was scared. For that Policeman Dog’s gun was a warlike looking weapon, let me tell you. The handle was red and the barrel black and the bullet as yellow as a dandelion.
“I’ll take three minutes to think about it,” answered the Policeman Dog. “But what are you going to do? You can’t get out and you can’t get in, I guess you wish you were thin as a pin.”
Just think of a Policeman Dog making up poetry at a dangerous time like this. Well, I never.
“I’m worried enough to grow thin,” answered Hungry Hawk. “Besides, I’m dreadfully uncomfortable.”
“I’ve got an idea,” suddenly exclaimed wise Uncle Lucky, “I’ll knock out the board. Maybe it will split in two and free the old bird.”
“Please be careful,” begged Hungry Hawk, as the old gentleman rabbit lifted the heavy wooden mallet, “please don’t make a mistake and hit me.”