“Well, it’s next door, as you may say,” Mrs. Meadows replied.
Just then Mr. Rabbit slowly raised himself from his chair and examined the seat closely. “I missed Mr. Thimblefinger,” he said, “and I was afraid I had sat on him.”
“Oh, no!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger, coming out from under the steps; “I was just resting myself.”
“Mr. Thimblefinger will take care of himself, I’ll be bound,” exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. “He’s little; but is a mountain strong because it is big?”
“Why, that puts me in mind of the story—But never mind! I’m always thinking about old times.” Mr. Rabbit sighed as he said this.
“Oh, please tell us the story,” pleaded Sweetest Susan, anxious to make friends with Mr. Rabbit.
He shook his head. “Mrs. Meadows can tell it better than I can.”
“Dinner!” cried Mr. Thimblefinger. “What about dinner?”
“Dinner’ll be ready directly,” replied Mrs. Meadows.
“But the story?” Sweetest Susan said.