"I know--I know!" Mr. Rabbit insisted; "I may be as nimble, but I'm not as keen for a frolic as I used to be. The chimney-corner suits me better than a barbecue." Mr. Rabbit closed his big eyes and sighed. "Well, well--everybody to his time, everybody to his taste!" Mrs. Meadows nodded her head approvingly. "Yes; between first one thing and then another, there's lots of time and a heap of tastes." "They tell me," remarked Mr. Rabbit suddenly, "that things have got to that pass in the country we came from that even Mr. Billy-Goat, who used to eat meat, has dwindled away in mind and body till he hangs around the stable doors and eats straw for a living. That's what Mr. Thimblefinger says, and he ought to know. I suppose Billy is still bob-tailed? I remember the very day he had his tail broken off." "Tell us about it," remarked Buster John. WHY MR. BILLY-GOAT'S TAIL IS SHORT. "Oh, it doesn't amount to much," said he. "It's hardly worth talking about. I think it was one Saturday. In those days, you know, we used to have a half-holiday every Saturday. We worked hard all the week, and we tried to crowd as much fun into a half-holiday as possible. Well, one Saturday afternoon Mr. Billy-Goat and Mr. Dog were walking arm in arm along the road, talking and laughing in a sociable way, when all of a sudden a big rain came up. Mr. Billy-Goat said he was mighty sorry he left his parasol at home, because the rain was apt to make his horns rust. Mr. Dog shook himself and said he didn't mind water, because when he got wet the fleas quit biting. "But Mr. Billy-Goat hurried on and Mr. Dog kept up with him until they came to Mr. Wolf's house, and they ran into the front porch for shelter. The door was shut tight, but Mr. Billy-Goat had on his high-heel shoes that day, and he made so much noise as he tramped about that Mr. Wolf opened his window and looked out. When he saw who it was, he cried out:-- "'Hallo! this is not a nice day to pay visits, but since you are here, you may as well come in out of the wet.' "But Mr. Dog shook his head and flirted up dirt by scratching on the ground with his feet. He had smelled blood. Mr. Billy-Goat saw how Mr. Dog acted, and he was afraid to go in. So he shook his horns. "'You'd just as well come in and sit by the fire,' said Mr. Wolf, unlatching the door. "But Mr. Dog and Mr. Billy-Goat thanked him kindly, and said they didn't want to carry mud into the house. They said they would just stand in the porch till the shower passed over. Then Mr. Wolf took down his fiddle, tuned it up, and began to play. In his day and time few could beat him playing the fiddle. And this time he played his level best, for he knew that if he could start Mr. Billy-Goat to dancing he'd have him for dinner." "I don't see how," said Buster John. "Well," exclaimed Mr. Rabbit, "if Mr. Billy-Goat began to dance he would be likely to dance until he got tired, and then it would be an easy matter for Mr. Wolf to outrun him."