"Well, well, well," thought the little rabbit, as he hopped away from the Old Duck Pond, "Granddaddy Bullfrog is a wise old frog." And I guess the little rabbit was right, for everybody doesn't know that those little funny singing toads I told you about in the last story are called Hylas, although everybody knows that some candies are! But it isn't spelt the same way. Oh dear me, no! But I don't believe Granddaddy Bullfrog knew that!

And while the little rabbit was hopping along towards the Shady Forest, he heard a noise like the beating of a drum. So he stopped to listen. There it came again, rat-a-tat-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! Yes, sir. Those sounds certainly came from the old orchard. So the little rabbit turned and hopped along the Old Rail Fence until he came to an old apple tree just behind the Big Red Barn where the Weathercock lived.

Rat-a-tat-tat! rat-a-tat-tat! "Who can it be?" thought the little rabbit, and he looked all around, and then, all of a sudden, he saw Red Head, the Woodpecker, building a new home for himself in the old apple tree.

Chip, chop, chip, chop, back and forth went the woodpecker's sharp bill, cutting out the chips from the old apple bough.

My! but it was hard work. The Miller's Boy always grumbled when his father told him to chop the wood, but Red Head kept right along, happy as could be. You see, the little people of the wood don't grumble if they have to work, and let me tell you in the Spring they have lots to do. Every one is busy making his home. Some are digging holes in the ground and some are making nests in the trees. But everybody is happy as the day is long. And the birds sing as they work, for a song helps the work along. Helps you do your very best, whether it's a hole or nest. Sing away, and never fret, worry won't keep out the wet. Sing and work until the sun tells you that the day is done.

Oh, dear. There goes my typewriter making up poetry!

Well, let me see where I was before my typewriter became a poet. Oh, yes. Red Head, the Woodpecker, was chopping out a little home for himself in the old apple tree, and Little Jack Rabbit had just discovered who it was who was making that queer chip-chop noise.

"Haven't got any time to talk," said the busy little woodpecker. "I must get this house ready for Mrs. Red Head. She says she won't wait another day," and he started to chop again, so the little rabbit hopped over to the Sunny Meadow where Mrs. Cow was eating the fresh young grass. Every now and then she would ring the bell on her collar, and then her little calf would run up and ask her what she wanted. And Mrs. Cow would rub her nose over the little calf's ear and whisper: "I only wanted to keep you from going away too far."