The Magic Flutes/My Little Thumb
MY LITTLE THUMB
(In Rabbit School, Bunny Bright is reading this lesson from a Primer.)
Alas, there were hunters behind the pasture. They stalked us from the barnyard to the woods. Death already was inscribing our Rabbit names in her black book.
With dread I saw that my name also was written there. In a fright I raced homeward across the stubble. But a bullet overtook me. My poor thumb was shot off.
When my little paw saw its loss, it was in despair. It wept crimson tears for the vanished thumb. “Don’t cry, little one,“ said I. “We Rabbits have a hospital in the forest yonder. There you will get a bandage, and perhaps—who knows?—even a new thumb.“
The dear sun was making ready his bed in the red evening sky, when I knocked at the Doctor’s gate. The 
Doctor took me in and washed my poor paw. He made a salve for it out of a bit of everything, but, alack, in his little stock he had no extra thumb to give me.
Hardly had he comforted me and smilingly tucked me into a little bed, that outside—thud!thud!—someone was knocking.
All manner of little Rabbits stood at the door. They had come from far and near. They were all wounded, bleeding. Each bore a sad mark showing where the finger of Death had touched him.
The Doctor worked until midnight to wash and stitch and bandage their hurts. Sometimes he wept in sympathy, again he spoke words of cheer. Before day was fully light, the pains had all been eased and even my poor paw slept for a quiet minute.
Now that our wounds were healing, the Doctor tried to cheer us with jokes and laughter.
He invited us to a concert, and when we came in, we found the third Mouse son there. He began to play, and as his flute sounded high above the cornet, salves, slings, and stitches fell from us all! Our wounds were gone—none knew where! Only health and merriment shone from our eyes.
And my little paw rejoicing in it happiness crowed to the crowded room: “What good fortune! What a wonder! I have got back my thumb again!“ Full of pride and pleasure, my paw scratched me behind the ear, saying: “Look at the thumb! Give it a pat, the little darling!“
I patted, I flattered, but when I tried to stop its running away, I could not. With a bound my feet had left concert and hospital behind!
Again, the whole country is my garden. The whole world is my friend. Joy calls me from every field and meadow. I know no more pain. You see it was in vain that big-toothed Death wrote my name in her black record. With my thumb I run and in my joy I shout:
Hopsa! Heysa! Tra-la-la!
