is the story he read:

Once there was a gentleman who wrote stories. He had a fine large cat
called Whiskers.

One day Whiskers thought he would see the man write his story, so he
sat up on the desk beside him.

The man started to write a story about an elephant. It was to be a long
story with big words in it.

Whiskers wanted to be petted just then, and as the man did not notice
him, he gave the pen a little slap, and it made a funny mark down the
page.

"Never mind," said the man, "that will do for the path along which the
elephant walked."

The man's pen was a lovely thing to play with, but Whiskers had a nicer
plaything himself. He began to go round and round after his own tail.
Round and round he went, until he upset the ink. Then he was so scared
that he ran and hid.

The man only laughed, and said he would draw funny little figures where
the blots of ink were.

He called Whiskers back and went on with his story. He was just
wondering how he would draw the seats inside the circus tent, when
Whiskers put his paw down on the wet page, and the man said:

"Why, Whiskers, you certainly are an artist."

Then he began to wonder how he could show what a big space the elephant
covered when he walked, and just then the cat walked over the paper, to
show him!

The man was so pleased then, that he laid down his pen and gave
Whiskers a big hug.

"Pooh!" said Whiskers, "that was nothing. I could write a better story
than you can, any day!"

You see, Whiskers was not a polite cat.

"Did Whiskers write the story?" asked Bunny.

Susan winked at Bunny and said:

"Old Grizzly, that is the best story of all, and I believe you made it
up yourself!"

Then old Grizzly blushed under the fur on his cheeks, and Bunny ran and
got a big bouquet and stuck it in his paw!

Old Grizzly went home feeling very happy indeed.

CHAPTER IV

The next evening Susan begged old Grizzly to tell her another story
about Whiskers. Grizzly said he knew one, but he kept it in the back of
his head and he could not find it. So he told them the story of Carlo,
instead.

Carlo was a fine dog. He had but one fault. He liked to suck eggs.

Day after day the cook went out into the hen-house to get eggs, and day
after day there were no eggs to be found.

At first she thought it must be a rat that stole her eggs, and she set
a trap. A clever old rat came and ate the cheese, but he never got
caught.

One day the cook saw Carlo su