icks," and Busy Beaver jumped into the water with a flap of
his broad tail and disappeared. So the little rabbit hopped along, and
by and by he came to the cave where the Big Brown Bear made his home.

"Helloa!" said Little Jack Rabbit, as the Big Brown Bear looked out of
his front door. "Winter time will soon be here."

"Oh, that doesn't worry me," said the Big Brown Bear.

"But what will you eat?" asked the little rabbit.

"When you're asleep you don't feel hungry. On a warm sunny day I may
come out for a little while and find something to eat. I don't worry."

Worry never makes you fat,
Instead, it makes you lean.
Never worry for a minute,--
Worry has the devil in it,--
Keep your mind serene.

And if you don't know what "serene" means, take your father's dictionary
and look up, for the more words you know the wiser you'll grow.

"Well, I don't have to worry about the cold weather," laughed the little
rabbit. "Mother Nature will give me a new white fur overcoat, and the
Old Bramble Patch will keep the wind away, and the cabbage leaves which
mother and I have stored away will last all winter." And then away he
went to see more of his friends in the Shady Forest.

Well, by and by, after a while, he heard the honk of an automobile horn.
"I wonder whether that's Uncle John," and Little Jack Rabbit stopped and
looked all around, and pretty soon, not very long, Mr. John Hare drove
by in his Bunnymobile. He looked very fine in his polkadot handkerchief
and gold watch and chain and a great big immense diamond horseshoe pin
in his pink cravat. Oh, my, yes! Uncle John was quite a dandy. He was
the best dressed Hare in Harebridge, and why shouldn't he be when you
consider he was President of the bank and the Harum Scarum Club!

"Helloa, there, little nephew," he shouted.

"Hop in and take a ride with me,
We'll take a spin for a mile or three,
And maybe we'll come where the lollypops grow,
Pink and yellow, all in a row."

THE LITTLE FROSTY PAINTER

There's a little frosty painter
Who soon will come around
To put a silver edging on
The grasses on the ground,
Upon the window pane he'll paint
A fairy landscape, strange and quaint,
And some cold morning you'll awake
To find he's frosted Mother's cake.

Now can you guess who this little frosty painter is? Why, it's Jack
Frost, the son of King Winter.

"Ha, ha," crowed the Weathercock o