“Where is the pop of pickered Peters picker Piper pepped?”
“I—I’m afraid you can’t say it,” said Peter, gently.
“I’m afraid so myself,” said Uncle Wiggily. “I shan’t try again. It makes my tongue all twisted and hurts my funny bone. I give up. What’s the answer? Where are the peppers?”
“Here they are!” exclaimed Peter, and from behind his back he held out a peck of pickled peppers. “That’s the only kind you can pick this time of year,” he went on. “I’m taking them to Mrs. Wibblewobble, the duck lady. She mixes them with corn-meal and fries them.”
“I’ll go with you,” spoke Uncle Wiggily. “I haven’t seen Alice and Lulu and Jimmie Wibblewobble in some time.”
So the bunny uncle and Peter Piper picked their way across the field toward the duck lady’s house. More than once Uncle Wiggily tried to say the riddle, but his tongue grew more and more twisted until he was walking sideways instead of frontwards. So he gave it up.
He and Peter Piper had not gone very far before Peter’s shoe lace came loose and he stooped down behind a big stone to tie it—tie the lace, I mean, not the stone. And while he was doing this along came the bad old fox, who had not bothered Uncle Wiggily in some time.
“Ah, ha!” cried the fox, showing his teeth. “This is the time I have you, Mr. Longears! I was just wondering what I would eat for dinner, but now I know. It shall be you!”
“Me?” asked Uncle Wiggily, curious like and wondering.
“Yes, you. Get ready for dinner! My dinner!” snarled the fox.