What if he slipped! That bear on top of him would be nothing to laugh about.
Plonk! right on top of Mrs Spotty.
Blinky stood ready, and Mrs Spotty, who was standing in front of Fatty, called out in a loud croak:
“Ready! Go!”
Blinky made a funny little run, then a few stumbles and with a grunt he flopped over Fatty, and plonk! right on top of Mrs Spotty. She fell with a dreadful thud, and tried to croak; but she was smothered in fur.
Blinky rolled over and over with laughter. When he managed to stand up — there he saw a very flat looking frog that had once been Mrs Spotty.
“Oh, I’ve killed her!” he cried in a frightened voice. “Come and pick her up!”
All the pupils hopped to Mrs Spotty’s assistance. She certainly did look flat; but her throat was puffing and one eye moved a little.
“Water! water!” the big frogs called as they dragged her to the edge of the pool.
“Push her in!” cried naughty Blinky, and before any frog had time to think, he gave her a push with his paw, and in she went, head first.
“Now you’ve done it!” called the frogs in cries of horror. “We’ll tell the policeman.”
“Policeman,” thought Blinky, “where have I heard that name?” And then he remembered Miss Pimm’s store.
In the excitement, while the frogs were hopping about and trying to rescue Mrs Spotty, he hurried away to the edge of the bush. Peeping behind a log he saw the frogs hunting everywhere for him; under leaves, behind the rushes and even down in the pool.
Think I’d better be going home,” thought Blinky. “Anyway I’m not sorry for Mrs Spotty, she had such googly eyes.”
He glanced at the sky and noticed the moon was sinking, so thought it time to make haste, as perhaps his mother may be looking for him by now. Past the gum-trees and thick bushes he scrambled, and just as he reached a clearing in the trees he paused to listen.
“The crickets are busy to-night,” he thought, as their chirruping came through the bush. “I’ll just see what they’re up to.”
Quietly he tiptoed into the grass, and suddenly stood quite still. In front of him, not many yards away the crickets were holding a cricket match.
Blinky chuckled as he looked at them. The batsman had a leaf for his bat, while the bowler had a spider’s cocoon for a ball. They were too interested in their game to notice Blinky; but he missed nothing. A deafening chirruping rent the air. Most of the spectators were perched on the blades of grass, as high up as they could climb, and were waving their legs in the air, and shaking the grass they stood on.
The batsman had a leaf for a bat.
“He’s bumping the ball!” they shrieked in cricket voices,
“Pull him out! Pull him out,” they shouted, and at once the umpire hopped over to the bowler and soundly boxed his ears with his front leg.
The bowler lost his temper, and jumped on the cricket ball, breaking it in pieces.
“Shame! Shame!” shouted the crickets. And in the next instant they surged on to the ground. Springing in the air they pounced on him and gave him a terrible kicking; and as Blinky turned to walk away he saw them piling earth on top of the bowler.
“I must hurry now, as I’m sure it’s getting late,” he thought, and he was beginning to feel very shaky. What if his mother found he was missing. That Mrs Grunty could be very cross at times, and she might persuade his mother to use a stick round his hind parts, as she once suggested. In his haste he stumbled over a stone and hurt his foot, so sat down to wait until the pain left him. Just behind the stump he was sitting on, a rabbit had made her home, and as she came scurrying through the grass she did not notice Blinky sitting so quietly. Between her teeth she carried some flannel flowers and a sprig of boronia.
“Good evening,” said Blinky.
“Oh! What a fright you gave me!” whispered the rabbit. “I know who you are all the same.” “Who?” asked Blinky.
“You’re Blinky Bill, and my mother knows your mother,” said the rabbit.
“Then you are only a bunny,” said Blinky gladly. “How old are you and where do you live?”
“I’m one year old, and I live in that burrow right behind this log.”
“What’s your name?” Blinky asked. “Bobbin!” the bunny replied. “That’s a silly name,” said Blinky quite rudely. “That’s my christened name, and my mother says it is very suitable for me.”
“What does suitable mean?” Blinky asked.
“Well, mother says I’m always bobbin’ about, and never still. I make her quite nervy at times.”
“What does she do when you run away?” Blinky asked rather anxiously.
“Run away!” said Bobbin, looking very surprised. “I never run away. Only bad children do that!”
“Well, where have you been, and why have you those flowers? You look very stupid carrying them in your mouth,” Blinky remarked.
“I’ve been gathering flowers for the birthday party,” replied Bobbin; “and how can I carry them without breaking their petals, if I don’t hold them between my teeth?”
“Haven’t you a pouch or a pocket somewhere?” Blinky retorted.
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