And if the fried egg doesn’t try to hide in the apple dumpling and make the peach stone jump over the shortcake, when we have company for supper, I’ll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and the wise man.
CHAPTER XXIV
UNCLE WIGGILY AND THE WISE MAN
“Rat-a-tat-tat!” came a knock on the door of the hollow-stump bungalow, where Uncle Wiggily Longears, the rabbit gentleman, lived.
“I’ll see who it is,” he called to Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy and the muskrat lady housekeeper was glad of that, for her paws were in the dishwater up to her elbows, and you know how it is yourself; you don’t like to answer the bell with your hands all soap bubbles, like a pipe.
So Uncle Wiggily went to the door, and, standing there, he saw Nannie Wagtail, the little goat girl. And there were tears in Nannie’s eyes, and she was trying to wipe them away with the tips of her horns. But when she did this she only tickled herself and she had to laugh.
But she didn’t want to laugh; she wanted to cry, for she was sad. And you know how it is yourself—you can’t laugh and cry at the same time; can you?
“Why, Nannie! What is the matter?” asked Uncle Wiggily, kindly. “Come in and tell me all your troubles!”
“Oh, dear! Boo hoo! Hoo boo! I have lots of troubles!” said the little goat girl. “My best doll, Priscilla Spicecake Orangejuice, is gone.”
“Gone!” cried Uncle Wiggily.