Free The Old Meadow by George Selden Page B

T-shirt—?”
    â€œFoolish can be dangerous.” Chester hated to sound like a judge. But he did, quite frequently, and often—despite himself—he was right. “They’re—observing you! Will you sing in the house from now on? It’s too easy to attract a crowd. I did it myself when I lived in New York.”
    â€œWhat a life!” said Ashley. “I was hopin’ mah voice could help Mr. Budd—”
    â€œIt still may—”
    â€œâ€”an’ now I’ve got to sing indoors!” The mockingbird whistled his anger and disbelief. “Cooped up! Confined!” He trilled a lullaby. “I suppose I’ll have to learn to be cozy! ”

SIX
    Fights!
    Robert Rabbit liked vegetables almost as much as Abner Budd did.
    Robert lived in a very private place. An elm tree, blighted, had fallen down, and its branches, all tangled, got overgrown with vines. There were shady, lovely, secret spaces where a rabbit could relax and feel safe.
    Every day, when Robert woke up, the first thing he did was his wake-up shake. Then a rabbit’s steady hunger set in. Most often Robert Rabbit said to himself, “Might see how Mr. Budd’s doing today.”
    On the way to inquire after Mr. Budd’s health, Robert did his exercises. It helped that there was a flat piece of Pasture Land that he passed where the grass was worn down. No need to try to eat here, he knew, because something much better was up ahead. His exercise he called “getting my running feet.” That meant that on the smooth green turf he ran round and round in widening circles until his flying feet felt like wings. Then he knew he was ready for the whole full day, rain or shine. And especially ready for Mr. Budd’s garden.
    Yesterday, on the morning of the debate, he’d had—what had he had? Rabbits scratch their ears like dogs, with their hind legs: tckktchktchk! —just like that, much faster than human eyes can see.
    He’d had beet greens!
    Robert Rabbit arrived at his favorite spot: the exact center of his half of Mr. Budd’s garden. Around him glowed all the vegetables. The beet greens—their red hearts were underground. The frilly fronds of carrot tops. And the gangly string beans, too, like awkward boys, were ripening. Robert loved even the vegetables that he didn’t eat himself—unless famished. Their colors were so beautiful. The mysterious purple of the royal eggplant. What secrets did its full roundness contain? The sunny yellow of squash, always on vacation. Rich, red tomatoes, fat and satisfied with their full piggy bank. Robert sighed in delight: the glory of vegetables— everywhere!
    Best of all, his favorite if there had just been a rain—though the human beings didn’t think much of it—the ordinary, good green grass. It was especially luscious in the little lawn Mr. Budd had created in front of his home. Robert always saved that for dessert.
    He settled in for his morning’s breakfast of sheer contentment.
    And before he took a bite of bean a cardboard box was all around him.
    â€œI’ve gotcha now!” a mean voice snickered above the darkness where Robert was caught. Of course, his capture could never have happened at all if Robert hadn’t been so greedy that he forgot his animal’s attention. It’s a lesson they all have to learn: be wary at all times—of everything!
    â€œYou Alvin, you!” But somebody had been paying attention.
    Inside his cabin, Mr. Budd had silently lifted a corner of glassine window to watch Robert nibble his dewy meal. He didn’t need to be quiet about it. The rabbit had caught him often enough. But secrecy—the sly lifting and looking—was most of the joy of a man peeking at a rabbit. That long-eared friend. Then, too, he liked to make sure that Robert—but Mr. Budd called him Longears—stayed in his half of the garden.
    â€œYou Alvin—I’ll whop