stripes and spots. "Ah, we're sorry to see you go, Ah-h, we're sorry,"
they said, rubbing his long ears and feeling of his long legs.

Then Young Leather and Red Slippers kissed him on the nose, kissed the
last and fifth of the five long-legged spider jack-rabbits.

"Good-by, old bunny, good-by, you're the dandiest bunny there ever
was," they whispered in his long ears. And he, because he knew what
they were saying and why they were saying it, he wiggled his long ears
and looked long and steady at them from his deep eyes.

"Zango," they yelled. He got ready. "And now zango!" they yelled
again. And the fifth jack-rabbit with his stripes and spots lifted off
his feet and went on and on and on and up and up and when he came to
the roof of the skyscraper he kept on going on and on and up and up
till after a while he was gone all the way out of sight.

They waited and watched, they watched and waited. He never came back.
He never was heard of again. He was gone. With the stripes on his back
and the spots on his hair, he was gone. And Young Leather and Red
Slippers said they were glad they had kissed him on the nose before he
went away on a long trip far off, so far off he never came back.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The Wooden Indian and the Shaghorn
Buffalo

One night a milk white moon was shining down on Main Street. The
sidewalks and the stones, the walls and the windows all stood out milk
white. And there was a thin blue mist drifted and shifted like a
woman's veil up and down Main Street, up to the moon and back again.
Yes, all Main Street was a mist blue and a milk white, mixed up and
soft all over and all through.

It was past midnight. The Wooden Indian in front of the cigar store
stepped down off his stand. The Shaghorn Buffalo in front of the
haberdasher shop lifted his head and shook his whiskers, raised his
hoofs out of his hoof-tracks.

Then--this is what happened. They moved straight toward each other. In
the middle of Main Street they met. The Wooden Indian jumped straddle
of the Shaghorn Buffalo. And the Shaghorn Buffalo put his head down
and ran like a prairie wind straight west on Main Street.

At the high hill over the big bend of the Clear Green River they
stopped. They stood looking. Drifting and shifting like a woman's blue
veil, the blue mist filled the valley and the milk white moon filled
the valley. And