"Says I, 'Hurt who? I'm no chicken.' "Says he, 'Doesn't it bleed?' "Says I, 'No more than enough to make my appetite good.'" Mr. Rabbit paused and looked up at the ripples of light and shade that were chasing each other across the sky in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country. Then he looked at the children. "The upshot of it was," he continued, "that Brother Bear went home and told Mrs. Bear how I had my head combed every day. Woman-like, she wanted to try it at once; so Brother Bear laid his head on a log of wood, and Mrs. Bear got the axe and raised it high in the air. Brother Bear had just time to squall out, 'Cut it off easy, old woman!' when the axe fell on his neck, and there he was!" "Oh, did it kill him?" cried Sweetest Susan. "That's what the neighbors said," replied Mr. Rabbit placidly. Sweetest Susan didn't seem to be at all pleased. Seeing this, Mrs. Meadows exclaimed:-- "To think of the poor little pigs Brother Bear killed and ate!" "Yes," said Mr. Rabbit, "and the lambs!" "Worse than that!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger. "Think of the little children he devoured! Think of it!" "I'm glad he had his head cut off," said Buster John heartily. "Me too, honey," assented Drusilla. XII. A SINGING-MATCH. After telling how Brother Bear learned to comb his hair, Mr. Rabbit closed his eyes and seemed to be about to fall into a doze, as old people have been known to do. During the pause that followed, Sweetest Susan saw what appeared to be a bird of peculiar shape sailing around in the sky of Mr. Thimblefinger's queer country. It was long of body and seemed to have no wings, and yet it sailed about overhead as majestically and easily as an eagle could have done. "What sort of a bird is it?" inquired Sweetest Susan, pointing out the object to Mrs. Meadows. "Now, really, I don't know," was the reply. "They are so high in the sky and I've seen them so often that I've never bothered my head about them." Mr. Thimblefinger climbed on the back of a chair, so as to get a better view of the curious bird, but he shook his head and climbed nimbly down again. The queer bird was too much for Mr. Thimblefinger. Mr. Rabbit opened his eyes lazily and looked at it. "If I'm not much mistaken--" he started to say, but Drusilla broke in without any ceremony:-- "'T ain't nothin' 't all, but one er dem ar meller bugs what swims roun' in de spring." "Why, I expect it _is_ a mellow bug," said Mrs. Meadows, laughing. "I used to catch them when I was a girl and put them in my handkerchief. They smell just like a ripe apple." "I thought it was a buzzard," said Buster John.