“But this is no joke,” protested Mr. Rabbit, winking at the children, but keeping the serious side of his face toward Mrs. Meadows. “I took you at your solemn word. Now there is a tuft of wool on Brother Lion’s tail, and you ask me how it happened to be there. I answer you as you answered me—’You don’t have to tell everything in a story.’ Am I right, or am I wrong?”
“I’ll not dispute with you,” remarked Mrs. Meadows, taking up her knitting.
“I don’t mind telling you,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, turning to the children with a confidential air. “It was as simple as falling off a log. When Brother Lion fell into the hogshead of hot water, the end of his tail slipped through the bunghole.”
This explanation was such an unexpected one that the children laughed, and so did Mrs. Meadows. But Mr. Thimblefinger, who had put in an appearance, shook his head and remarked that he was afraid that Mr. Rabbit got worse as he grew older, instead of better.
XIV.
BROTHER LION HAS A SPELL OF SICKNESS.
“The fact is,” remarked Mr. Rabbit, “I was just telling the story—if you can call it a story—to please company. If you think the end of Brother Lion’s tale is the end of the story, well and good; but it didn’t stop there when I told it in my young days. And it didn’t stop there when it happened. But maybe I’ve talked too long and said too much. You know how we gabble when we get old.”
“I like to hear you talk,” said Sweetest Susan, edging a little closer to Mr. Rabbit and smiling cutely.
Mr. Rabbit took off his glasses and wiped them on his big red handkerchief.
“There’s some comfort in that,” he declared. “If you really like to hear me talk, I’ll go right ahead and tell the rest of the story. It’s a little rough in spots, but you’ll know how to make allowances for that. The creatures had claws and tushes, and where these grow thick and long, there’s bound to be more or less scratching and biting.