"Uncle Wiggily! Uncle Wiggily! Aren't you going to get up? Come down
to breakfast. Aren't you going to get up and come down?"

"No, Miss Fuzzy Wuzzy," replied the bunny uncle, "not to give you a
short answer, I am not going to get up, or come down or eat breakfast
or do anything," and Mr. Longears spoke as though his head was hidden
under the bed clothes, which it was.

"Oh, Uncle Wiggily, whatever is the matter?" asked Nurse Jane,
surprised like and anxious.

"I don't feel at all well," was the answer. "I think I have the
epizootic, and I don't want any breakfast."

"Oh, dear!" cried Nurse Jane. "And all the nice cakes I have baked. I
know what I'll do," she said to herself. "I'll call in Dr. Possum.
Perhaps Uncle Wiggily needs some of the roots and herbs that grow in
the woods--wintergreen, slippery elm or something like that. I'll call
Dr. Possum."

And when the animal doctor came he looked at the bunny uncle's tongue,
felt of his ears, and said:

"Ha! Hum! You have the Spring fever, Uncle Wiggily. What you need is
sassafras."

"Nurse Jane has some in the bungalow," spoke Mr. Longears. "Tell her
to make me some tea from that."

"No, what is needed is fresh sassafras," said Dr. Possum. "And, what