"And who are you?"

"My name is Ethel Rose," went on the voice, "and I am lost. Oh, please help me. I'm so afraid!"

"Of course, I'll help you," spoke Curly bravely. "But why is your name Ethel Rose?--that is two names."

"I don't know," answered the little girl, and then she stepped out from the bushes where she had been crying, and the moon shone down on her face and her ear-rings and dark hair, and Curly said:

"Now I know why they call you Ethel Rose."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you are as pretty as a rose," and at that Ethel laughed.

"But come," went on Curly, "I'll show you the way to our bungalow, and then Uncle Wiggily will take care of you."

"Oh, will he?" cried Ethel Rose, and so she walked along beside Curly, who was carrying his pail of sour milk. And, all of a sudden, when they were near the bungalow, there was a rustling in the bushes, and out jumped a big black bear.

"Ah, ha!" the bear cried. "Now I have you Curly, and you, too, Ethel Rose! Oh, how nice! You come with me and I will tell your fortune!"

"But I know my fortune already," said Ethel Rose, and she was just ready to cry again, for she did not like bears.

"Never mind, come along to my den, anyhow!" growled the bear. "I am going to have roast pork for supper!" and he made a grab for Curly and Ethel Rose, and caught them in his big claws.

And then, all at once, he saw the pail Curly was carrying--that bear did--and he growled out:

"Ha! Ha! What have we here? Something good, I'll venture. Well, I'll take that first!" And before Curly could stop him the bear tipped up the pail and drank every drop of sour milk at one mouthful! And then! Oh, dear!

"Wow! Woof! Snickery-snee! Bur-r-r! Lemons! Vinegar! Sourgra.s.s!"

cried the bear. And his mouth was puckered up so from the sour milk-- just as when you eat lemons if you have the mumps--that the bear couldn't open his jaws to take even one bite. And Curly knew this, so he cried:

"Come on, Ethel Rose, we can get away now! Uncle Wiggily will save us!" So Curly Tail helped Ethel Rose to run away and the bear's mouth was so puckered up from the sour milk that he had to run down to the lake to get a drink of water, and so Curly Tail and pretty Ethel Rose got safely to the bungalow and away from the bear. And that's all there is tonight, if you please.

But the next story, in case the marshmallow doesn't stick on Ethel Rose's hair ribbon, and make a pin cushion of it, will be about Flop and the pie lady.

STORY XX

FLOP AND THE PIE LADY

Uncle Wiggily Longears, the nice old gentleman rabbit, and the two piggie boys, Flop Ear and Curly Tail, were sitting on the porch at the bungalow at Racc.o.o.n Island, Lake Hopatcong, wondering what they could do next for their autumn vacation fun. Curly was trying to take some snapshot photographs of a little red squirrel, who was jumping down across the cot beds, all in a row like soldiers, and Flop was wondering whether he could catch any fish.

"Well, we must do something," said Uncle Wiggily. "It isn't every day you boys get a vacation after the regular summer one, so you must enjoy it."

"We wouldn't have gotten it if the roof hadn't blown off our school," said Flop, "and, as long as we're here, I say let's go off in the woods and look for chestnuts."

"All right," said Curly, and they were just going to leave the bungalow, when, all at once, there was a rustling in the bushes and out came--no, not a bear or a wolf, or even a bad skillery-scalery alligator, this time. No, it was a nice lady, with real soft, brown hair, and the jolliest whistle you ever heard!

What's that? You didn't know ladies could whistle? Well, this one could, and play the piano at the same time. Out she came from the bushes, and she said:

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, I'm so glad to see you and the two little piggie boys."

"Well, we are glad to see you, too," said Uncle Wiggily, politely making his best bow, "but I'm afraid I don't know you."

"Oh, yes, you do," said the lady. "I make pies, and if you like I'll make one now."

"Will you, really?" cried Flop. "Oh, I would dearly love an apple pie, with a bit of sour milk cheese."

"Then you shall have it," said the lady, as she trilled out a little tune by whistling until it sounded like a bird in the lilac bush.

"Have you any apples?" she asked, puckering up her lips.

"Yes!" exclaimed Flop. "Here they are!" and he brought out a basketful. The lady said they would make a lovely pie, so she rolled up her sleeves, and spoke, saying:

"Now, I am sorry, but I would like you all to leave the bungalow.

You, Uncle Wiggily, and you, also, Flop and Curly. For when I make apple pies I get all kerslostrated--which means fussed--if any one is around. So kindly run away, and when you come back the pie will be ready for you."

"All right; we'll go," said Uncle Wiggily. "I'll go pull my motorboat up on dry land, so it won't get caught in the ice when the lake freezes this winter, and you boys can help me."

So Curly and Flop went off to help Uncle Wiggily, and the pie lady-- for such they called her--started her baking. She peeled the apples and cut them up, and then she got the piecrust mixed. Uncle Wiggily had already built a fire so she did not have to do that. And all the while she whistled and whistled, until it made you feel glad and happy just to hear her. And when you smelled that apple pie baking-- well, say! I mustn't write any more about that, or I'll want to put my typewriter down cellar, and go out hunting for the lady myself.

Pretty soon Flop, who was helping Uncle Wiggily with the motorboat, sniffed the air, grunted once or twice, and said:

"I smell something good! I guess I'll go see what it is."

"All right," said Curly, who was quite tired from having a.s.sisted his rabbit uncle to haul up the boat. "I'll stay here, Flop, and when you find the good thing that you smell, bring me some."

So Flop promised, and he kept sniffling away, and the lovely smell grew plainer and plainer as he moved toward the bungalow, until he exclaimed:

"Ah, I know what it is! The pie lady! Oh, I wonder if the pie is done?"

Nearer and nearer he went to the bungalow, and he heard a whistle, and then he saw the pie lady bustling around with a long ap.r.o.n on, and Flop asked:

"Is the pie done?"

"Almost, little piggie boy," she answered.

"You may wait for it to come out of the oven. How old are you?"

"Seven," said Flop, and then he asked the lady.

"What is your name?"

"Margaret," she answered. "Margaret More."

"More what?" asked Flop.

"More pies, I guess," laughed the pie lady as she whistled again, this time just like a canary trilling when it swings at the top of its cage in the sunshine. Curly laughed, too, and then the lady went to the oven to take out the pie.