teyes, "we didn't know they were
your trees."

"Certainly they are," replied the dog, snapping his eyes open and shut.
"Those leaves keep the sun off me while I sleep. Now I'm going to eat
you all up for taking my things!" and he jumped right at them.

But land sakes, flopsy dub! Before he could bite either Brighteyes or
Sister Sallie, who should appear, but Percival, the good, old circus
dog.

"Here, you let my friends alone!" he barked, and he jumped on that bad
dog, and nipped both his ears well, let me tell you. Then the bad dog
ran away, howling, and Percival took care of Sister Sallie and
Brighteyes until it was time for them to go home. Now in the story after
this one I'm going to tell you about Dr. Pigg and Uncle Wiggily--that is
if my furnace fire doesn't go out in the street roller-skating with the
coal man.

STORY VI

DR. PIGG AND UNCLE WIGGILY

Some one knocked on the door of the pen where Dr. Pigg and his wife and
Buddy and Brighteyes lived one day. "Rat-a-tat-tat," went the rapping.

"My! I wonder who that can be?" exclaimed Mrs. Pigg. "Run and see, will
you, Buddy, like a good boy?"

So Buddy hurried to the door, and whom should be see standing there but
Uncle Wiggily Longears, the old gentleman rabbit; and Uncle Wiggily had
rapped with his crutch, which had made the funny sound.

"Why, how d'do!" exclaimed Dr. Pigg as soon as he saw who it was. "Come
right in Uncle Wiggily! This is an unexpected pleasure. Brighteyes, get
a chair for Uncle Wiggily. Buddy, you take his crutch. Mrs. Pigg,
haven't we some of that new cabbage preserved in maple sugar? Bring out
a bit for our friend!"

My! you should have seen what a bustling about there was in the pen,
and all because Uncle Wiggily had come and because every one was fond of
him. Buddy started to take the old gentleman rabbit's crutch, but Uncle
Wiggily cried:

"Oh, no! Don't! Not for worlds! Oh, my, no! and an ice cream cone
besides! Oh, lobster salad, no!"

"Why, whatever is the matter?" exclaimed Dr. Pigg.

"Oh, my! Ouch! Oh, shingles!" cried Uncle Wiggily, as he stepped up over
the doorsill. "Oh, dear me, and a baseball bat! It's my rheumatism, as
usual. It's something awful, these days."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," cried Brighteyes Pigg.

"And so am I," added Buddy, and they all were, for that matter.

"Rheumatism, eh?" remarked Dr. Pigg, thoughtful-like.

"Yes," went on Uncle Wiggily, as he hobbled over to a chair. "In fact, I
cam