placently. "No harm in me--no harm in
old people. Just give us a little room in the corner--a little place
where we can sit and nod--and there's no harm in us. I'm just as glad
you've come as I can be. I see you've brought the Tar Baby. She's
grown some since I saw her last." Mr. Rabbit looked at Drusilla with
considerable curiosity. "I hope she's not as sticky as she used to
be."

"Hey!" cried Buster John, laughing. "Mr. Rabbit thinks Drusilla is the
Tar Baby!"

Drusilla tossed her head scornfully. "Huh! I ain't no Tar Baby. I may
be a nigger, an' I speck I is, but I ain't no Tar Baby. My mammy done
tol' me 'bout de Tar Baby in de tale, an' she got it fum her
gran'daddy. Ef I'm de Tar Baby, I'm older dan my mammy's gran'daddy."

Mr. Rabbit took off his spectacles and wiped them on his coat-tail.
"My eyes are getting very bad," he said, by way of apology. "But you
certainly look very much like the Tar Baby. If you were both together
in the dark, nobody could tell you apart. Well, well! I'm getting
old."

"You ain't no older dan you look," said Drusilla spitefully under her
breath.

"Hush!" whispered Sweetest Susan. "He'll eat us up."

Mrs. Meadows laughed. "Don't worry, child. Mr. Rabbit loves his pipe
and a joke, but he'll never hurt you. Never in the world."

"But this isn't in the world," suggested Buster John.

"Well, it's next door, as you may say," Mrs. Meadows replied.

Just then Mr. Rabbit slowly raised himself from his chair and examined
the seat closely. "I missed Mr. Thimblefinger," he said, "and I was
afraid I had sat on him."

"Oh, no!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger, coming out from under the steps;
"I was just resting myself."

"Mr. Thimblefinger will take care of himself, I'll be bound,"
exclaimed Mrs. Meadows. "He's little; but is a mountain strong because
it is big?"

"Why, that puts me in mind of the story--But never mind! I'm always
thinking about old times." Mr. Rabbit sighed as he said this.

"Oh, please tell us the story," pleaded Sweetest Susan, anxious to
make friends with Mr. Rabbit.

He shook his head. "Mrs. Meadows can tell it better than I can."

"Dinner!" cried Mr. Thimblefinger. "What about dinner?"

"Dinner'll be ready directly," replied Mrs. Meadows.

"But the story?" Sweetest Susan said.

THE STRONGEST--WHO? OR WHICH?

"Well," replied Mrs. Meadows, "it was like this: One time in the
country where we came from--the country where you live now--there
chanced to be a bi