, just like that, Mr.
Blacksnake rose out of the grass.

"Look out!" cried Mrs. Cow. "Maybe he's going to eat you," but whether
he was I'm sure I don't know, for Billy Bunny didn't wait to see. He
didn't care whether Mr. Blacksnake wanted his breakfast, but hopped
away as fast as he could and pretty soon, not so very far, he came to
the Babbling Brook, and there sat the little fresh water crab on the
sand, and when he saw Billy Bunny he said:

"It's raining, Billy Bunny,
But you and I don't care,
For raindrops make the flowers
Grow and blossom fair."

And this is what every little boy and girl should say on rainy days.

STORY II.

BILLY BUNNY AND THE FRESHWATER CRAB.

Let me see. It was raining in the last story when we left off, wasn't
it? Billy Bunny and the little freshwater crab were talking together,
weren't they?

That's it, and now I know where to begin, for it's stopped raining
since then and Mr. Happy Sun is shining in the sky and the little
clouds are chasing each other over the blue meadows like little lambs.

"I like that little piece of poetry you just said," cried the little
rabbit. "Please say another." So the freshwater crab wrinkled his
forehead, and then he began:

"And when the sun is shining,
And all is bright and gay,
Just keep a little sunshine
To help a rainy day."

"I will," said the little bunny, for he was a cheerful little fellow,
and then he hopped away and by and by he came to the Old Mill Pond.

But Uncle Bullfrog was nowhere to be seen.

There stood the old log, but there was nobody on it but a black snail.
It seemed strange not to see the old gentleman frog sitting there, his
eyes winking and blinking and his white waist-coat shining in the sun,
and it made the little rabbit feel lonely.

"Where is Uncle Bullfrog?" he asked a big bluebottle fly, who was
buzzing away at a great rate. But he didn't know, and neither did a
big darning needle that was skimming over the quiet water.

"I wonder if that dreadful Miller's Boy has taken Uncle Bullfrog
away," thought Billy Bunny, and just then Mrs. Oriole flew down from
her nest that swung in the weeping willow tree and said:

"Are you looking for Uncle Bullfrog, little rabbit?"

"Yes, ma'am. Do you know where he is?"

"He's down by the mill dam," answered the pretty little bird, and then
she flew back to her nest that looked like an old white cotton
stocking at Christmas time b