The Velveteen Rabbit | Page 2

off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real
you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had
not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. But the
Skin Horse only smiled.
The Skin Horse Tells His Story
"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a great many
years ago; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts
for always."
The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this
magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to
know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing
his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become
it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.

There was a person called Nana who ruled the nursery. Sometimes she
took no notice of the playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no
reason whatever, she went swooping about like a great wind and
hustled them away in cupboards. She called this "tidying up," and the
playthings all hated it, especially the tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it
so much, for wherever he was thrown he came down soft.
One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't find the
china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry, and it was
too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime, so she simply
looked about her, and seeing that the toy cupboard door stood open, she
made a swoop.
"Here," she said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!"
And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the Boy's
arms.
That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the
Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged
him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he
pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely
breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the nursery,
when all the house was silent, and his talks with the Skin Horse. But
very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made
nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the
burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together,
in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the
night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off
to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm
chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night
long.
And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy-so happy
that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen fur was getting
shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becoming unsewn, and all the pink
rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him.
Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, for wherever the

Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and
picnics on the grass, and lovely fairy huts built for him under the
raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when the Boy was
called away suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the
lawn until long after dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with
the candle because the Boy couldn't go to sleep unless he was there. He
was wet through with the dew and quite earthy from diving into the
burrows the Boy had made for him in the flower bed, and Nana
grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron.
Spring Time
"You must have your old Bunny!" she said. "Fancy all that fuss for a
toy!"
The Boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands.
"Give me my Bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn't a toy.
He's REAL!"
When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knew that what
the Skin Horse had said was true at last. The nursery magic had
happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The Boy
himself had said it.
That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred
in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. And into his boot-button
eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom
and