So the tarts were made over again by Uncle Wiggily and the Queen—right, this time, with real jam—and King Cole ate them and said they were fine. And if the paper boy doesn’t turn into a bottle of ink, and make the fountain pen go swimming with the goldfish, I’ll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the jumping cow.
CHAPTER XXI
UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE JUMPING COW
Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice, old gentleman rabbit, started out from his hollow-stump bungalow one day, to take a walk. He hopped over the fields and through the woods, wondering whether or not he might meet with an adventure, when, after a little while, he came to the House that Jack Built.
And there, nicely wrapped up in a bag, the bunny uncle saw the malt that lay in the House that Jack Built. Malt, you know, is a sort of flour, out of which they make buckwheat cakes.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Uncle Wiggily, as he scratched his pink, twinkling nose, “I did not think I had come this far.”
He stood in front of the House that Jack Built, wondering whether or not he ought not go in and say “howdy do,” when he saw coming out of the house the rat that ate the malt, and the cat that caught the rat, and the dog that worried the cat that caught the rat that ate the malt that lay in the House that Jack Built.
“Well, this is very strange,” said Uncle Wiggily to himself. “They all seem to be running away!” And indeed they were. For the cat was chasing the rat and the dog was chasing the cat and the rat was chasing after its own shadow, so as to get away from the cat, and then, all of a sudden, out came Mother Goose herself.
“Oh, have you seen her, Uncle Wiggily?” asked Mother Goose. “I am so worried about her!”
“Seen whom? About whom are you worried?” asked the rabbit gentleman, politely.