Part 8 (1/2)

And he wasn't hurt the least mite, but he was very thankful to Uncle Wiggily, the old rabbit gentleman, and Buddy never tried to walk a tight rope, nor a loose one again.

Now, in case there is no salt in the ice cream to make the rag doll sneeze, I'll tell you in the following story about Brighteyes Pigg in a tin can.

STORY XI

BRIGHTEYES IN A TIN CAN

Of course, when Mamma Pigg came home the afternoon that Buddy tried to walk a tight rope (for she had been away visiting Mrs. Wibblewobble when it happened) she had to hear about it. Buddy and Brighteyes would have told her, anyhow, for they always did, but, as it was, Mrs. Pigg saw a scratch on Buddy's leg, where the rope had hurt him when he fell, and she wanted to know all about it. Then Buddy told her of the trick he had tried to perform.

”Little guinea pigs are safer on the ground,” she said. ”Leave such things to Billie and Johnnie Bushytail, or the Bow Wows, who were once in a circus. Now get washed for supper, for your papa will soon be here, and I think he'll fetch a quart of carrot ice cream, as it is so hot.”

And sure enough, Dr. Pigg did, and the carrot ice cream was the best Brighteyes and Buddy had ever tasted, they thought.

Well, it was about two days after this that Brighteyes Pigg was sent to the store for her mother, to get a nutmeg, a yeast cake, and a bottle of blueing. Brighteyes started off, hurrying through the woods, where once the owl had tried to get Buddy into the den of the old fox, and soon the little guinea pig girl was at the grocery.

She got the things, and the storekeeper put them in a paper bag for her, and back she started.

It was so warm that, after Brighteyes had reached a cool place in the woods, near where a little brook ran over the stones, making a gurgling noise, very pleasant to hear, she sat down to rest. And she hadn't been sitting there more than about ten long breaths, when she saw, beside the stream, a tin can.

”Now I wonder what is in that can?” thought Brighteyes. ”I'm going to see. Perhaps it's something good to eat, and I can take some home to Buddy,” for she was very kind to her brother, you understand.

So she went up to the can, but wasn't she disappointed when she saw that it was empty! The open end was on the side that was turned away from her, and that's why at first she thought it was full. But she smelled of the opening, and oh, what a delicious perfume there was, sweet and sugary, and in a minute Brighteyes knew what it was.

”There has been mola.s.ses in that can!” she exclaimed. ”Oh, if there's anything I dearly love it's mola.s.ses! I wonder if there is any left inside? Sometimes people don't quite empty the cans before they throw them away. I'm going to look.”

So Brighteyes went closer, and, would you believe me? if she didn't see, away down in the lower edge of that can, as it rested on its side, a lot of nice mola.s.ses.

”Oh, I must have that!” cried Brighteyes, and, without thinking of what she was doing, she put her head and her forepaws inside that can. She found she could reach the mola.s.ses with her tongue, and she began to lick it up, wis.h.i.+ng she had some way of taking part of it to Buddy.

She was so excited over it that she even had taken her things from the grocery store inside the can with her. There she was, with only part of her body and her hind legs sticking out, and she was eating the mola.s.ses as fast as she could.

It kept tasting better and better, but, after a while, Brighteyes thought she had enough, and she started to pull her head out of the can.

But, oh dear me! She found she couldn't do it. The sharp edges of the tin caught in her fur, and there she was, stuck fast with the can over her head, and the nutmeg, the bottle of blueing and the yeast cake in there with her.

”Oh, dear me suz-dud!” she cried. ”I'm fast!”

She tried to shake the can off, but it wouldn't shake. Then she tried to pull herself out, but the can was still on her head, and went everywhere she went, like Mary's little lamb. Then poor Brighteyes tried to stand up on her hind legs, and hit the can against a tree or a stone, thinking she could knock it off, but it wouldn't come off, and then she turned a somersault, thinking that would help, but, though she even stood on her head in the can, and wiggled her hind legs, it did no good.

”Oh, I'm caught fast!” cried the poor little creature, and she rolled around and around on the ground, thinking that would help some, but it didn't.

Then she heard some one coming along through the woods, and she called out: ”Who's there? Please help me out of this can!”

”I'm Johnnie Bushytail,” answered a voice. ”Who are you?”

”I'm Brighteyes Pigg,” she said. ”Please help me.”

But her voice sounded so queer and hollow, shut up as it was in the can, and the nutmeg rattled around so, like thunder, that Johnnie Bushytail, the squirrel, was frightened, and ran away, without helping Brighteyes.