Mr. Thimblefinger shook his head. “Oh, no! Just common every-day people like myself. We put on no airs. Did you ever hear of Mrs. Meadows? And Mr. Rabbit? And Mrs. Rabbit?”
“Dem what wuz in de tale?” asked Drusilla.
“Yes,” said Mr. Thimblefinger, “the very same persons.”
“Sho’ ’nuff!” exclaimed Drusilla. “Why, we been hear talk er dem sence ’fo’ we wuz knee-high.”
Sweetest Susan and Buster John said they had often heard of Mr. Rabbit and Mrs. Meadows. This seemed to please Mr. Thimblefinger very much. He smiled and nodded approval.
“Did they ever have you in a story?” asked Buster John.
“No, no!” replied Mr. Thimblefinger. “I was so little they forgot me.” He laughed at his own joke, but it was very plain that he didn’t relish the idea of not having his name in a book.
Presently the children came to the house, but they hesitated at the gate and stood there in fear and trembling. What they saw was enough to frighten them. An old woman was sitting in a chair knitting. She was not different from many old women the children had seen, but near her sat a Rabbit as big as a man. He was a tremendous creature, grizzly and gray, and watery-eyed from age. He sat in a rocking-chair smoking a pipe.
