So Buddy hurried to the door, and whom should be see standing there but Uncle Wiggily Longears, the old gentleman rabbit; and Uncle Wiggily had rapped with his crutch, which had made the funny sound.
"Why, how d'do!" exclaimed Dr. Pigg as soon as he saw who it was. "Come right in Uncle Wiggily! This is an unexpected pleasure. Brighteyes, get a chair for Uncle Wiggily. Buddy, you take his crutch. Mrs. Pigg, haven't we some of that new cabbage preserved in maple sugar? Bring out a bit for our friend!"
My! you should have seen what a bustling about there was in the pen, and all because Uncle Wiggily had come and because every one was fond of him. Buddy started to take the old gentleman rabbit's crutch, but Uncle Wiggily cried:
"Oh, no! Don't! Not for worlds! Oh, my, no! and an ice cream cone besides! Oh, lobster salad, no!"
"Why, whatever is the matter?" exclaimed Dr. Pigg.
"Oh, my! Ouch! Oh, shingles!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he stepped up over the doorsill. "Oh, dear me, and a baseball bat! It's my rheumatism, as usual. It's something awful, these days."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Brighteyes Pigg.
"And so am I," added Buddy, and they all were, for that matter.
"Rheumatism, eh?" remarked Dr. Pigg, thoughtful-like.
"Yes," went on Uncle Wiggily, as he hobbled over to a chair. "In fact, I came to see you about it, Doctor," and the old rabbit rubbed his leg very, very softly.