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 *mus dinnah, too," he added, straightening up suddenly.

He got up from the door-step and started slowly toward the bit of tangled underbrush that grew back of the cabin. He did not know, yet, where the Christmas dinner was coming from. He had gotten no further than the resolve that there should be one.

"Folks hab turkey, er goose," he was saying to himself, "er chickun, er—rabbit pie," he ended with a sudden whoop, and made a dash toward the tangled brush, for, at that very moment, a rabbit's white flag of a tail had flashed before his eyes.

"Hi, yo' Molly Cottontail, I git yo' fo' a pie!" yelled Jerusalem Artie, and the chase was on.

Into the brush dashed Molly, and after her came Jerusalem Artie; and, as he ran, one leg of his trousers began to unroll. But there was no time to stop.

Molly Cottontail had the advantage, but Jerusalem Artie's eyes were sharp, and Molly's white flag led him on. Molly slid beneath the tangled brush, and Jerusalem Artie made desperate leaps above it, each leap marked by a flying trouser leg.