“What does the Woog want to kill the fairies for?” asked Sweetest Susan. “He must be very mean and cruel.”
“He’s all of that, and more,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “The fairies please the children, and give them something beautiful to think about in the day and to dream about at night, and the Woog doesn’t like that. He hates the fairies because it pleases the children to hear about them, and he hates the children because they like to hear about the fairies.”
“Well, I never want to see him until I am big enough to tote a gun,” said Buster John. “After that, I don’t care how soon I meet him.”
“Now,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, turning to Mrs. Meadows with a solemn air, “didn’t you say that all this about the Woog was a tale, or something of that sort.”
“I believe I did,” replied Mrs. Meadows. “What about it?”
“Just this,” said Mr. Rabbit,—“a tale’s a tale, and it never stops until all is told.”
“If that’s the case, I’ve heard some here that overshot the mark,” remarked Mrs. Meadows.
“No doubt, no doubt,” responded Mr. Rabbit. “But what became of the Woog?”
“I know! I know!” cried Tickle-My-Toes, who had been listening to all that was said about the Woog.
“Very well; let’s hear about it,” suggested Mr. Rabbit.