[Illustration: AND HE MADE SOME STRIPES, TOO--MOSTLY ON TOP OF THE STOVE]
So then he touched it again in another place and made another spot, and in another place and made another spot, and in a lot of places and made a lot of spots, and he made some stripes, too--mostly on top of the stove, which was nice and smooth to mark on, though he made _some_ on the pipe. You would hardly have known it was the same stove when he got all through, and little Jack thought how beautiful it was and how pleased his mother would be when she got home and _saw_ it. But then right away he happened to think that perhaps she might not be so pleased after all, and the more he thought about it the more sure he was that she wouldn't like her nice red-striped and spotted stove as well as a black one; and, besides, she had told him _never_ to play with fire.
[Illustration: LITTLE JACK KNEW PERFECTLY WELL THAT SHE WASN'T AT ALL PLEASED]
And just at that moment Mrs. Rabbit herself stepped in the door! And when she looked at her red-spotted and striped stove and then at little Jack Rabbit, little Jack knew perfectly well without her saying a single word that she wasn't _at all pleased_. So he began to cry very loud, and started to run, and tripped over his blocks and fell against a little stand-table that had Mrs. Rabbit's work-basket on it (for Mrs. Rabbit always knit or sewed while she was cooking anything), and all the spools and buttons and knitting-work went tumbling, with little Jack Rabbit right among them, holloing, "Oh, I'm killed! I'm killed!"--just sprawling there on the floor, afraid to get up, and expecting every minute his mother would do something awful.
But Mrs. Rabbit just stood and looked at him over her spectacles and then at her red-spotted and striped stove, and pretty soon she said:
"Well, this is a lovely mess to come home to!"
Which of course made little Jack take on a good deal worse and keep on bawling out that he was killed, until Mrs. Rabbit told him that he was making a good deal of noise for a _dead_ man, and that if he'd get up and pick up all the things he'd upset maybe he'd come to life again.
Then little Jack Rabbit got up and ran to his mother and cried against her best dress and got some tears on it, and Mrs. Rabbit sat down in her rocker and looked at her stove and rocked him until he felt better. And by-and-by she changed her dress and went to cleaning her stove while little Jack picked up all the things--all the spools and buttons and needles and knitting-work--every single thing.