and right still and hold him
there till I climb down the other side of the tree.'

"With that Mr. Man shook the limbs and leaves and dropped some pieces
of bark. This was more than Brother Lion could stand. He was so
frightened that he jumped from under the ladder, and his uncles and
his blood-cousins came tumbling to the ground, howling, growling, and
fighting.

"They were as sorry-looking a sight as ever you saw when they came to
their senses. Those that didn't have their bones broken by the fall
were torn and mangled. They had acted so foolishly that out of the
whole number, Mr. Man didn't get but three lion-skins that could be
called perfect.

"Brother Lion went home to his mother as fast as he could go and
remained quiet a long time. And now you tell me he's in a cage."

Mr. Rabbit paused and shook his head until his ears flopped.

The children seemed to enjoy the story very much; so much so, indeed,
that Mrs. Meadows wanted Mr. Rabbit to tell some of his own queer
experiences, but Mr. Rabbit laughed and said that it didn't seem
exactly right to be telling his own stories. He said if he told the
stories just as they happened, he'd have to talk about himself a good
deal, and people would think he was boastful. He declared he didn't
feel like making his young friends think he was bragging.

"Oh, we shan't mind that," said Sweetest Susan, "shall we, brother?"

"Why, of course not," replied Buster John.

"La! we all done hear folks brag, till we got hardened ter braggin'!"
exclaimed Drusilla.

So the children, aided by Mrs. Meadows, coaxed Mr. Rabbit until he
finally consented to tell some of his queer adventures.

VIII.

BROTHER TERRAPIN'S FIDDLE-STRING.

Mr. Rabbit moved his body uneasily about, and scratched his head, and
crossed and uncrossed his legs several times before he began.

"I declare it isn't right!" he exclaimed after a while. "I don't mind
telling about other folks, but when it comes to talking about myself,
it is a different thing."

"Don't you remember the time you tried to get Brother Terrapin to give
you a fiddle-string?" asked Mrs. Meadows, laughing a little.

"Oh, that was just a joke," replied Mr. Rabbit.

"Call it a joke, then," said Mrs. Meadows. "You know what the little
boy said when the man asked him his name. He said, says he, 'You may
call it anything, so you call me to dinner.'"

"He wasn't very polite," remarked Sweetest Susan.

"No, indeed," Mrs. Meadows a