“Oh, you never can tell,” he answered. “I suppose the skillery-scalery alligator, or the bad old Pipsisewah will come along and——”
Hardly had Uncle Wiggily said these few words than he and Baby Bunty heard a sad little voice saying:
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear, me! Here I’m caught in a sassafras tree!”
“Who’s that?” asked Baby Bunty.
“I don’t know who it is, but I know who it isn’t!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily.
“Then who isn’t it?” asked Baby Bunty.
“It isn’t the Pipsisewah,” spoke the rabbit gentleman. “He never uses poetry, though he did eat some of your sugary frosted chocolate cake the other day. But I must see who this is. They may need help.”
“Indeed I do!” went on the sad little voice.
“Who are you?” asked Uncle Wiggily.
“A lightning bug,” was the answer. “Some persons call us fireflies, and that’s a good name, too. But I am caught fast by my legs in the sticky gum on this sassafras tree, and I can’t get loose.”