The Beaver put on his horn-rimmed spectacles and tried to see what the reason could be.
The Monkey put his paw up to his ear to listen.
All the time the March wind howled louder, and louder, and the rain fell, and the sleet came, but the kitchen fire roared merrily and the tea kettle sang a cheerful song.
The Mad March Hare said:
“Mary is mad when they comb her hair,
She stamps her foot, and she doesn’t care.”
“Mary is mad when they comb her hair”
The Bear, the Beaver and the Monkey nodded their heads. They had seen Mary mad many times when her hair was combed.
The Mad March Hare continued: