“You need some one to keep you lively,” quacked Grandpa Goosey.
“Oh, I have some one!” laughed Mr. Longears. “You should see Baby Bunty! Say, now I think of it, come on back to my hollow stump bungalow and stay to lunch. I’ll show you Baby Bunty—if she’s home. But she’s nearly always out in the woods, hopping around. She started off with her carriage just before I came here. Perhaps she went to get some one to give her a ride, as I had no time. Come and see Baby Bunty.”
“I will!” promised Grandfather Goosey Gander.
Together he and Uncle Wiggily went through the woods. But they had not traveled very far before, all at once, Grandpa Goosey cried:
“Look there, Uncle Wiggily! What’s that rolling down the hill in front of us? It looks like a baby carriage!”
“It is!” cried Mr. Longears, as he peered through his spectacles. “It’s Baby Bunty’s carriage, and it’s running away down hill. Oh, she’ll be hurt! I must hop after that carriage and stop it!”
“You never can catch that carriage!” quacked Grandpa Goosey. “It’s rolling down hill too fast! You are so old and stiff, like myself——”
“Am I old and stiff?” cried Uncle Wiggily. “You just watch me hop!”
He jammed his tall silk hat down on his head, took a tight hold of his red, white and blue striped rheumatism crutch, and down the hill he leaped.
Faster and faster rolled Baby Bunty’s carriage! Faster and faster hopped Uncle Wiggily, his coat tails streaming out behind like two girls’s hair ribbons.