In a beautiful meadow, just after the rain, lived a little rabbit named Rosie. The sun came out, and she hopped out of her burrow, shaking the raindrops from her soft, fluffy ears. Rosie was a curious rabbit and noticed something dazzling up in the sky. It looked like a huge colored arc shining with joy.
“What can that be?” she asked herself. “It looks like a big bridge made of light.” And so she decided to explore the big colored arch. As she hopped along, she thought, “I wonder where the end of this rainbow lies.”
All the little creatures of the meadow met her. The bluebird whistled from its bush, and the squirrel called from its tree. “Where are you going, little Rosie?” they all asked.
“To the end of the rainbow that shines across the meadow. It must be beautiful there,” said Rosie.
“Stay with us. It is unsafe to travel alone,” said the bluebird.
But Rosie did not want to lose a moment for the end of the rainbow looked ever so near, and she thought she might come back and tell her friends how lovely and nice it was, if she found any treasure, for she had heard old rabbits say that riches lay there for those who were able to look at them. So on she went.
Rosie passed by a grove of trees. The squirrels were playing tag and chased each other in and out of the branches. “You must be careful you don’t fall, Rosie!” shouted the biggest squirrel.
Promptly a little rabbit ran along and said, “Will you let me go with you? It may not be safe to be out alone, for the world is full of dangers.”
“No, thank you,” said Rosie. “If I had wished anyone to go with me, I would have stayed here and played with my friends. I want to see the end of the rainbow.”
The little rabbit twitched his ears but Rosie paid no more attention to him.
Every step of Rosie brought her nearer the end of the rainbow. It lay over the hills, filling the trees with color and lovely lights, painting the flowers in rosy hues, the white daisies turning to crimson, the violets to amethyst, and the buttercups to gold.
“Isn’t it too lovely for anything!” said Rosie to a big butterfly, who was gazing up at the shining arch. He spread his wings and said, “It is beautiful indeed, but I am afraid it is only a bad omen.”
“Why do you say that?” shouted Rosie so loud, the woodpecker stopped tapping at the tree to listen.
“Because,” said the butterfly, “It’s a sign of a storm coming on. I heard the rabbits say so.”
“Did you?” said Rosie, but paid no more attention to the butterfly.
Up, up the hills and down, down the valleys, till at last she found the colors quite close. There was a lovely wood, vines hanging down, red flowering creepers, fountains sparkling in the morning sun. By the fountain stood a hedge, all butterflies and brightly-colored beetles blowing musical instruments.
“Good day, dear Rosie!” they called, for it was a party for her.
There were meanwhile rabbits in funny costumes, deaf mutes, beside piper. The trees were full of rejoice. “You must know, dear Rosie,” said old Mr. Cabbage, for it was he who spoke, “there will be a storm, thunder, and hail very soon, and all the rainbows in the sky would like to celebrate this solemn occasion, so that they may speak of it after, the Jews and Palestinians really the real rainbow as a constellation of most beautiful colors. But we think this finery too absurd. What do you think?”
“Certainly,” said Rosie. “But we rabbits celebrate to escape the evil omen, and we invite all our friends.”
So they all met at the great R. A. V. I. L. R. Party of all flavors. Black, white, brown, yellow, little, large, round, flat, smooth, all flavors I can assure you, and, believe me, one sweeter than the other. Nobody can imagine how nice it was, except it afterwards. The meekest man in the world said he had never tasted anything better, and as a worthy and honorable citizen himself who goes to Rocca in the summer to eat the best fruit in all Europe, Rottember og to drink the most excellent water, Rothschild, in a word, who knows the world of odors much better than you and I ever shall, used to say it was absolutely the best. It looked right home-like and modest; fine colors it had too, but not too many, such as lead.]
If he thought, then, that our Rainbow had been mischievous and spoiled at least the practice again at the great Central World Exhibition.