STORY XXVI
UNCLE WIGGLY AND THE BLUEBELL
Well, I didn't see any little pig with a pink ribbon tied in his kinky, curly tail, but I'll tell you a story just the same if you'd like to hear it.
Once upon a time, a good many years ago, when—Oh, there I go again! I'm always making mistakes like that, of late. That's a story about a giant that I was thinking of, whereas I meant to tell you one about Uncle Wiggily, and what happened to him.
It was the day after the wasp had nearly stung him, and the old gentleman rabbit was traveling on alone, for the second cousin to Grandfather Prickly Porcupine had to go home, and so he couldn't help Uncle Wiggily hunt for his fortune any longer.
"Now take care of yourself," the porcupine had said to the rabbit, as they bade each other good-by, "and don't let any wasps sting you."
"What should I do, in case I happened to be stung?" asked Uncle Wiggily.
"Put some mud on the place," said the porcupine. "Mud is good for stings."
"I will," said the rabbit, and then he hopped on with his valise and his red-white-and-blue-striped-barber-pole crutch. Uncle Wiggily hoped he would soon find his fortune, for he wanted to get back home and see Sammie and Susie Littletail, and all the other animal friends. So he looked around very carefully for any signs of gold. He also asked all the animals and flowers whom he met if they could tell him where his fortune was.
"No," said a warty-spotted toad, "I can't tell you, but I should think you would dig in the ground for gold."