Billy Bunny saw something moving
among the trees.

"What's that?" he said to his rabbit uncle. But before the old
gentleman rabbit could reply, a big stone hit one of the lamps on the
automobile and broke it to splintereens.

"Stop that whoever you are!" shouted Billy Bunny. "If you do it again
I'll shoot!" and he held his popgun up to his shoulder just like a
soldier boy in battle.

And if the little canary in my room doesn't wink at me all night so
that I can't hear the alarm clock in the morning, I'll tell you
another story.

STORY XXIV.

BILLY BUNNY AND DANNY BILLYGOAT.

Well, my little canary bird didn't wink at me all night, as I feared
it might in the last story, and my alarm clock said "good morning" to
me at half-past fourteen o'clock, so I got up in time, and here is the
story I wrote before I went out into the garden to eat raspberries
with Robbie Redbreast.

One evening as Uncle Lucky and Billy Bunny were driving along in the
Luckymobile, who should they come across but a little billygoat named
Danny.

He had a little beard that hung down from his chin and two little
horns that stuck up from his head, and he was playing on a flute while
he sat cross-legged on a stone by the roadside. And when he saw our
two small friends in their machine, he began to play:

It's not so far to the twinkle star
In the little white boat of sleep.
So list to my tune, like a breeze in June,
Where the honeysuckles creep.

Over the sky, way up high,
In the little white boat of sleep.
Ever so far to the twinkle star
Way up in the sky blue deep.

"Where did you learn that lullaby," asked kind Uncle Lucky, brushing a
tear from his eye, for he remembered just a little song his mother
used to sing when he was a little boy rabbit, you know.

"I don't know," answered Danny Goat. He pulled on his goatee and
smiled, and then he began again:

"Up in the sky when the sun is high
The white cloud boats go sailing by,
And the summer breeze in the tall, tall trees
Is singing a song the whole day long.
And this is the song they sing:
We ring the bell in the cool damp dell
That grows on the lily's stalk,
We bend the ferns in the river's turns
And the tail of the great gray hawk;
And the foamy spray in the big deep bay
We blow on the great boardwalk."

"That reminds me of Atlantic City," said Uncle Lucky. "Let's drive
down