Bumper, The White Rabbit Part 8

"Way out into the country through beautiful fields and woods," replied Mrs. Sparrow.

"Could I reach them, I wonder! I might drown before I could get ash.o.r.e."

"Wait!" exclaimed Mrs. Sparrow. "Why not escape on a raft? Here comes a big board down the river. You could hop on it, and not even get wet. Yes, you could do it. It's floating close to the sh.o.r.e."

"Where is it?" exclaimed b.u.mper, eagerly.

"Right here! Now get ready for a long jump."

b.u.mper was not only ready, but very anxious, and when the floating board appeared a yard or more from the mouth of the sewer he crouched for a spring. It was a long jump, and b.u.mper had some doubts about making it; but he put all his strength in it, and hopped high in the air, and landed safely on the raft.

"Hi! How was that for a jump!" he exclaimed, when he stood upright on the board.

"Fine!" said Mrs. Sparrow. "I wish you a good voyage! Good-bye!"

b.u.mper wagged his ears in reply, and shouted back a hearty farewell. Then he turned to look down the river. He had escaped from the sewer, but evidently he had adventures still ahead, for the river was broad and long, and very swift in places.

STORY X

b.u.mPER SEES HIS FIRST BLACK CROW

When b.u.mper floated away from the mouth of the sewer on his raft, he felt quite jubilant, and a little proud of his achievement. He had escaped the bats successfully, and now he had found a way out of the sewer itself. He was so puffed up by these exploits that he wasn't a bit afraid of what might happen to him on the river.

"This is really much better than being cooped up in the old woman's backyard," he reflected. "Not even Jimsy or Wheedles ever dreamed of such adventures as I've had. My! I feel like a great traveler already."

But when the current of the river began to draw his raft away from the sh.o.r.e into the middle, his enthusiasm was not quite so great. The stream grew rougher, and little white caps appeared ahead. His raft began to bob up and down, and pretty soon a wave washed over it and wet b.u.mper's feet.

This made him very uncomfortable, for a rabbit doesn't like wet feet any more than a cat does. He tried to sit up on his hind legs and dry his front paws, but other waves washed over the raft and wet his haunches. He couldn't very well stand on his front paws, and dry his hind ones, so he had to endure the wet and cold.

The river pa.s.sed through a beautiful field all aglow with flowers and green gra.s.s, but the sh.o.r.e was too far away for b.u.mper to swim to it.

"I'll leave well enough alone," he said, "and stick to my raft."

Then he came to a woods through which the river flowed. It was swampy here, and twigs and tree trunks seemed to grow out of the water long distances from the sh.o.r.e.

"If I can find a tree fallen in the river, I'll hop on it and escape,"

b.u.mper reasoned.

He was so absorbed in watching for a chance to escape that he hardly noticed a black shadow hovering over him. Not until it approached very close did he duck his head and look up.

"Caw! Caw!"

It was a big, black crow. Now b.u.mper had never seen a crow. In fact, he had never seen any of the wild animals of the woods, for it must be remembered that he was born in the city. Of course, he had seen plenty of sparrows, for they live in the cities, and also sewer rats. A few bats had also flown over the old woman's backyard on warm nights hunting insects, and b.u.mper was more or less acquainted with them.

But a crow! He didn't know what it was. So when the loud, raucous cry a.s.sailed his ears, he squatted down on his raft, expecting every minute to be attacked by the black shadow above.

"Caw! Caw!" screamed the big bird.

"Mr. Caw! Mr. Caw!" cried b.u.mper, supposing that was the bird's name.

"Good morning! How do you do?"

Now, the crow is very sensitive about his inability to sing. He used to think that cawing was singing until the birds all laughed at him. After that he kept by himself, and very rarely joined the other birds in the woods or fields.

b.u.mper's calling him by that name very naturally angered him. It was a slight, a slur upon his voice, and he resented it at once. It must be remembered also that the crow had never seen a white rabbit before, and b.u.mper's appearance floating on the plank had excited the bird's curiosity. White rabbits don't run wild in the woods, and b.u.mper was almost as much a mystery to the crow as the latter was to the former. All the rabbits Mr. Crow knew were gray or brown, with a white belly and tail, and none of them had pink eyes. So it was quite natural that the black bird should be curious and surprised at the sight of a pure white rabbit, with pink eyes, floating down the river on a raft.

"Caw! Caw!" screamed the crow, flapping his wings so that the wind made by them ruffled b.u.mper's hair.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Caw. I understand," replied b.u.mper, getting excited by the nearness of this big, black thing.

"How dare you make fun of me!" cried Mr. Crow, striking the tip of b.u.mper's ears with his wings. "I'll teach you to laugh at my voice."

With that he struck out with both wings, and nearly upset b.u.mper from his raft. Frightened by this exhibition of anger, b.u.mper's teeth chattered, and his voice shook.

"I wasn't making fun of your voice, Mr. Caw," he said. "I think it's a very sweet and pleasant voice. Please don't upset my raft."

The crow, a little mollified by this flattery, circled around the raft, and surveyed the scene below with eyes filled with curiosity.

"What are you, anyway?" he called down at last. "You look like Mr. Rabbit, but I never saw one so white before. What's your name? And what are you doing on that raft?"

"I'm b.u.mper, the White Rabbit, and--"

"Rabbits are never white," interrupted the crow.

"But I a.s.sure you I am."

"Then you're not a rabbit. You're something else."

b.u.mper smiled and tried to look pleased. "Would you be something else if you were white?" he asked.

Now this reference to an old fable of the crows touched a sensitive spot.

There were white crows, or at least there were rumors of them, and every crow liked to believe the story was true. If one white crow, then why not more? Why shouldn't all crows be white?

"Did you ever see a white crow?" the bird asked.

"Crow! Crow!" stammered b.u.mper. "Is that your name? I'm sorry, Mr. Crow, I made a mistake. You see, I'm from the city, and crows don't live there."

"No, I should say not--unless the white ones do." He came nearer and showed excitement. "Answer me. Did you ever see a white crow? If all rabbits from the city are white, then maybe that's where the white crows come from."

Now b.u.mper was learning shrewdness, and he saw right away through the vanity of the bird that had him at his mercy. So, instead of answering directly, he pretended that he knew a great deal more than he did.

"I'm surprised, Mr. Crow," he said, "that you've never been in the city to see for yourself. You really mean to tell me you've never been in the city?"

"Why, no, it's not a place for crows."

"Maybe not for black ones, but white crows are perfectly safe there, the same as white rabbits. I never saw one hurt there."