Bumper, The White Rabbit | Page 5

hear. Mothers are very queer sometimes, even rabbit
mothers.
"It's because you're so beautiful, dear!" she whispered finally. "You're
whiter than any of my children, and you have the softest fur, and the
pinkest eyes. Now do you understand?"
No, Bumper didn't understand a bit. He was more perplexed than ever.
If he was handsomer than other white rabbits, then why didn't people
buy him first? Why did they look at him, and return him to the basket,
and say:
"I guess I'll take the other one?"
"It must be people don't know how pretty I am," he said finally. "What
can I do to make them see?"
Mother rabbit laughed until her fat sides wobbled like a fur muff filled
with playful kittens. "Dear, dear," she exclaimed, with tears in her eyes.
"I thought you would understand. It's because the people don't have the

money to give."
"Why don't they?" he asked, a little peeved. "Don't they have all the
money they want?"
"No, dear, not all of them. Some are nearly as poor as we are, and they
have to be careful of the pennies. That's why they don't buy you. The
old woman asks too much for you."
This didn't improve Bumper's temper any; but right away he thought of
the little girl with the red hair. "Do you think she has plenty of money?"
he asked. "She was beautifully dressed, and had a rose in her hair."
"I don't know. Some people put all their money on their backs, and
starve their stomachs. It may be this girl was that kind."
Bumper was sure she was wrong, for the red-haired girl didn't look
starved; but she didn't have any of her birthday money left, and she
confessed she'd spent it all for cakes and candies. Bumper wondered if
she'd had anything to eat since, or if she was saving up her money to
buy him.
That night he had another dream in which the red-haired girl appeared;
but in the morning the old woman took him out of the box, and said:
"It's your turn, Bumper. I must sell you to-day. I need the money
badly."

STORY III
BUMPER IS SOLD
Bumper was taken to the street corner with Fluffy, Dimples and Pickles.
It was a cloudy day, and the old woman limped as she walked along
with her basket on her arm. Damp weather always brought out her
rheumatism, and sometimes made her very cross.
Dimples and Fluffy began playing they were on a ship in a storm, and

when a drop of rain hit Pickles on the nose he squealed with delight,
and joined them in the game. They scampered around so lively inside
that the old woman stopped and opened the cover of the basket.
"Stop that!" she said quite angrily, "or I'll dump you all in the gutter!"
The threat was enough to send each to a corner of the basket, where
they eyed each other and tried to think up some less boisterous game. It
was beginning to rain steadily outside, and the water trickled through
the top of the basket. Every time a drop hit one, he squealed, but no one
dared to jump and run around.
Now rabbits don't sell very well on rainy days, especially white rabbits.
Their fur gets all wet and roughened up, and they look more like
half-drowned rats than pretty, fluffy bunnies. Fluffy was taken out of
the basket first, but nobody took any notice of her, and when she came
back she was all wet and shivery.
"B-r-r-r, it's awfully wet outside," she said, shaking with the cold. "I'm
glad nobody bought me, for I'd rather be in here safe and warm than in
somebody's arms."
Pickles's turn came next. He had an ingrowing toe nail, which
sometimes made him grouchy and sour, so he was dubbed Pickles. He
looked and acted like his name now. He squealed when the old woman
picked him up in her hand, and when a splash of rain landed on the
back of his neck he kicked both hind legs and wriggled his body free
and fell plump back into the basket.
The old woman was very angry. "You, Pickles," she growled, "you'll
go to bed to-night without any supper."
Somebody passed just then, a lady with an umbrella over her head, and
the woman with rabbits to sell turned to her in her most beguiling way.
"Rabbits, lady! Nice, pretty rabbits for sale!"
The lady stopped long enough to let her umbrella drip all over the
basket, and then she asked: "Are they white rabbits? I don't want any

other kind."
"Yes, ma'm, pure white bunnies, with pink eyes, and long, fluffy
ears--the dearest and cutest little things you ever saw. Let me show
you."
With that she