“Yes, they are the soft, fuzzy blossoms of the willow bush. They are plants and not an animal at all.”
“Well, well!” cried Uncle Wiggily. “That shows what it is to be without glasses. I certainly thought they were real pussies. I must hurry to the blacksmith’s to have my glasses fixed.”
So he did, and his glasses were soon mended; while Mother Goose put the pussy willows in water where they would blossom out into big cat-posies.
And if the stepladder doesn’t walk off with the cake of soap and have a birthday party for the broom and dust pan on the back stoop, I’ll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the leaves.
CHAPTER XXIII
UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE LEAVES
Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, stood out in front of his hollow-stump bungalow in the woods, one day, and looked carefully around. Then he glanced up at the blue sky.
“What is the matter?” asked Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy, the muskrat lady bungalow-keeper. “Are you looking for some one?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” replied the bunny uncle, slowly. “I was just thinking that perhaps I had better begin to do some Spring cleaning around my bungalow.”
“Spring cleaning! Do you mean inside or outside?” asked the muskrat lady, as she carefully wiped a bit of flour off the end of her nose with her tail, for she had been baking a cake.