Mr. Wicked Wolf

"Mr. Wicked Wolf" by David Cory is a whimsical children's tale that follows the adventures of a cunning wolf who uses his cleverness to outsmart the other animals in the forest. The story explores themes of wit, friendship, and the consequences of one’s actions, as the mischievous wolf learns valuable lessons about honesty and kindness. With charming illustrations and engaging prose, this delightful book captures the imagination of young readers while imparting moral lessons.

• Children

								
    “Hop out of bed and wash your face
      And neatly part your hair
     Right down the middle of your back,
      Then hurry down the stair,”

sounded the wake-up song of the musical alarm clock.

Out of bed hopped Little Jack Rabbit and in a few minutes he was
ready for breakfast—nice carrot porridge with lettuce cream, turnip
toast and a stewed lollypop. After he had polished the front door
knob, fed the canary and filled with kindling the woodbox behind the
kitchen stove, he kissed Lady Love good-by.

“Do be careful!” cautioned his pretty bunny mother, smoothing the
blue bow at his little white throat. “Do be careful. Danny Fox is
everywhere.”

“Don’t worry,” answered the little rabbit bunny boy, and away he
hopped down the winding path through the brambles. Pretty soon he
came to the Sunny Meadow, through which the Bubbling Brook gurgled
and laughed until it splashed into the Old Duck Pond.

The Sunny Meadow was brown and barren. No lovely flowers smiled at
the little rabbit as he hopped along. A few dry leaves scurried by
as Billy Breeze whistled merrily.

    “Where are you going, bunny boy?
     Here is a penny to buy a toy,”

all of a sudden shouted Professor Crow from a treetop.

“Oh, thank you!” answered the happy little rabbit, politely. “I’ll go
right down to the Three-in-One Cent Store for a lollypop ice-cream
cone.”

On the way he heard Squirrel Nutcracker scolding Chatterbox, his red
squirrel cousin.

“What’s the matter?” inquired the little rabbit.

“Nothing but trouble,” replied the old gray squirrel. “Chatterbox
tried to steal into my store house.”

“I did not!” answered the little Red Squirrel. “I only peeked in
through a knot hole.”

“Let’s play a game of tag! You’re it!” shouted the bunny boy,
clapping his paw on Chatterbox’s shoulder.

My, what a scamper after that! Over the fallen logs, across the
Bubbling Brook and under the Old Rail Fence raced these three little
people until, all of a sudden, they almost bumped into the Billy Goat
Stage Coach.

    “Stop! stop! I want to take a ride,
      Pull in your Billy Goat Team,
     I’m on my way to Turnip Town
      For a lollypop ice cream,”

shouted Little Jack Rabbit.

“Whoa!” cried the Old Dog Driver, pulling in the billy goats right in
front of the little bunny. “Stand still, Butter! Quiet now, Bouncer!”

“All right, I’m in,” called out the little rabbit, looking up through
the open window at the good bow-wow driver.

“Gid-ap!” shouted the Old Dog, clicking his tongue on his long white
teeth, and cracking his whip over the heads of his prancing billy
goats.

Away went the Billy Goat Stage Coach, rattlety bang, over the bumps
and over the stones till it almost crackled the bunny boy’s bones.

Pretty soon the Old Dog Driver shouted:

“Carrot City—Next stop, Turnip Town!”

“Wait, wait!” squeaked an old lady Pig, waving a green umbrella.

“Hurry up!” growled the Old Dog, “I’m five minutes behind time.”

“Where are you going?” asked the breathless lady Pig, as the polite
little rabbit latched the coach door.

“Turnip Town, m’am,” he answered, opening his knapsack to slip in his
little red-striped candy cane.

“Going for a visit?” enquired the inquisitive lady Pig.

“No, m’am,” replied the little rabbit. “Just going for a candy
chocolate mouse.”

“Be careful, the peppermint cat might catch it,” said the lady Pig
with a squeaky chuckle.

“Dear me!” sighed the little bunny, “is she as fierce as the farmer’s
black cat?”

“Not quite,” answered the talkative lady Pig.

Just then the coach stopped and in hopped Daddy Longlegs. He wore a
long linen duster and carried a cotton umbrella on his arm.

“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed, “if my dear little friend isn’t on
board.” And, sitting down by the little bunny, he enquired all about
the folks at home.

“Mother’s well,” answered the little rabbit. “She always wears two
pink roses, one on each cheek.”

“How’s Uncle Lucky?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” laughed the bunny boy.

    “He’s always well
     And hops up with
     The rising bell.”

“Turnip Town!” all of a sudden shouted the Old Dog Driver, and out
jumped the little rabbit boy to buy his chocolate mouse.

“Dear me!” he sighed, as he hopped out of the candy shop, “I must
hurry home,” and away he went, clipperty clip, lipperty lip to the
Shady Forest.

By and by, not so very far, a dreadful howl sounded close at hand.
Dear me! before poor little Jack Rabbit could hop away somebody
grabbed him by the throat.

“Ha, ha, ha! Now I’ve got you!” chuckled a deep, growly voice, and
Mr. Wicked Wolf dropped the little frightened bunny boy into a big
empty gunny sack. Then, throwing it over his shoulder, he started off
for his den in the Shady Forest.

“Ha, ha, ha!” again chuckled Mr. Wicked Wolf, “what a nice dinner
Mrs. Wolf and I will have to-night!”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “mother will never again
see her little bunny boy come hopping up the path in the Old Bramble
Patch.”

“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mr. Wolf, as he hurried along with the poor little
rabbit.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the poor little bunny boy, all alone in the sack
on the back of the big wicked wolf, “what shall I do, what shall I
do? I’m a goner. Yes, I’m a goner, just as sure as

    Monday follows Sunday
    And sunshine follows rain,
    And the little brook flows to the ocean,
    And green apples give you a pain!”

Poor Little Jack Rabbit! all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr.
Wicked Wolf.

Just then a little voice from the treetop whispered: “Haven’t you a
knife in your pocket, little rabbit?”

It was Bobbie Redvest’s voice, so low and sweet that Mr. Wicked Wolf,
who was old and deaf, never heard a word.

“Oh, oh, oh!” thought the little rabbit, all a-tremble, his little
knees going clitter, clatter and his little heart pitter, patter, “I
wonder if I have?” And he looked through his pockets one by one, his
little pink nose trembling with fright just like a star on a frosty
night. At last, oh joy! and a catch of his breath; he found his knife
in the little handkerchief pocket of his coat.

Then he waited all alone—in the sack—on the back—of Mr. Wicked Wolf.

There! It came again, the little voice from the treetop:

    “Cut a hole—in the sack—
     Oh, so care-ful-ly!”

All a-tremble, the little rabbit opened his knife and made a slit in
the bag, oh, so qui-et-ly.

Then, thrusting out his head, he was just going to hop away, when the
little voice from the treetop whispered:

“Wait—a—minute.”

“Oh, dear me!” thought the little rabbit, “I don’t want to wait. I
want to get away.” But he minded the little voice, and it was mighty
well he did, for just then Mr. Wicked Wolf stopped short and said,
“Gee whiskers, I’m getting tired. I guess I’ll sit down on this old
log.” And down he sat, letting the sack slip to the ground. Taking
out his old corncob, he filled it with tobacco and, scratching a

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