BETTER THAN A KITTEN.
The next day, Preston and his grandfather rode away after old Slowboy.
"They might have let me gone, too, _I_ should fink," grumbled Flaxie.
"What they goin' to get in that basket? Tell me, Ninny."
"Something nice that you never saw before," replied Ninny.
When they came home that night, they brought two things that made Miss
Frizzle's eyes dance and sparkle like stars. Curled up together in a
soft heap were two beautiful rabbits,--one brown, the other snow-white.
John Piper, a man who had once lived at Mr. Abbott's, had given
these rabbits to Preston Gray and Bert Abbott, for their own. It was
very kind of him; but he made one mistake--he forgot to say which
of the boys should have the white rabbit. The brown one was "very
respectable," as Ninny said; but the other was lovely--as plump and
white as a snowball, with pink eyes that glowed like gems.
"Poh, who cares which is which?" said Bert.
"I'm sure _I_ don't," said Preston, as he hunted all over the stable
for an old rabbit cage Crawford had brought there last year. "If we
keep 'em together it's all the same."
The boys were well satisfied for awhile; but no more so than Flaxie.
After saying her "big prayer," she added,--
"O God, we thank Thee _specially_ for the _wabbits_; all but the cage;
we had that before."
Her cold was well by this time; and she was allowed to stay in the yard
as much as she chose, and watch the pretty pets. It was a funny sight
to see them nibble the vegetables their little masters brought them;
and Flaxie stood and threw kisses to make their dinner all the sweeter.
As the cage was Preston's, and kept in his mother's clothes-yard,
it followed that Preston saw more of the rabbits, and had more care
of them than Bert. But, alas, Flaxie had the care of them too! When
Preston was gone to school, she hovered around them, saying to
herself,--
"I mustn't lose these wabbits. It isn't _my_ wabbits. If I should lose
'em, I should be _'spised_; and, when I grow up a woman, then folks
will look to me and say, 'Flaxie, _where's_ those wabbits?'"
And, saying this, she let them out of the cage. A little while
afterward, a cruel dog leaped over the fence, worried the poor timid
things half to death, and, before Preston could get them back into the
cage, had bitten off the beautiful white rabbit's white tail.
It was too much! Preston was very angry, not with Flaxie, but with the
dog, and gave him a good beating; or it would have been a good beating
if it had only hit the dog! But, after the first blow, the naughty
beast ran around a corner; and that was the last seen of him, though it
was not the last said or thought of him, you may be sure.
Both the boys were grieved at sight of their white rabbit without any
tail, and Bert said,--
"Flaxie, what did you open the cage for?"
But she replied, with an injured air,--
"You ought to not _lemme_ open the cage,--such a little goorl as me."
And Bert laughed, but could not help remarking to Preston,--
"Sure enough, you're a smart boy to let that young one meddle round so
much."
Then Preston had to answer,--
"Well, I didn't s'pose she could turn the button, and you know I
didn't; and I wish you'd hush up."
Naturally, when Bert was told to "hush up," he only talked so much the
more; and we all know that talking only makes matters worse.
"If that dog had bit old Brownie, I wouldn't have cared," said Bert,
trying to be provoking; "but _my_ white rabbit! I say it's a shame!"
"_Your_ white rabbit? What you talking about?"
"Why, John Piper was _my_ father's hired man, sir; and you're only my
cousin."
"Well, what o' that, sir? Isn't this cage mine? And would he have given
the rabbits to us _without_ a cage? No, _sir_: if it hadn't been for
_me_ you wouldn't have had _half_ a rabbit, Bert Abbott!"
"Half a Bert Rabbit Abbott!" stuttered Flaxie, who never let any one be
cross to her brother, except herself.
Then the words flew like hailstones,--pell-mell, sharp and thick,
without mercy,--till the boys forgot that they had ever loved each
other.
The very next day Brownie got her foot caught in one of Preston's
fox-traps, and was lamed for life. Bert had scorned to call her his
own when she was a perfect rabbit; but now, out of spite, he hunted
up an old bird-cage, and went in great haste to claim her, before she
got "killed dead." He said he "didn't care a cent about the old brown
thing, but he wasn't going to have her abused."
"Good riddance!" cried Preston. "_I_ don't want to see her again."
"_We_ don't like yabbits, any but white ones," said Flaxie, keeping
back her tears with a mighty effort, for she dearly loved Brownie.
"O, yes, Preston Gray, you feel mighty smart because you've got the
white one," retorted Bert, in a rage; "but she won't do you much good,
now I tell you! You see if something or another don't happen to her,
that's all!"
Considering the bad luck that seemed to hang over Preston's
things,--from his living pets down to his kites and marbles,--it was
very likely something would happen to the white rabbit; and Mrs. Gray
told her husband she "trembled for Snowball."
[Illustration: BETTER THAN A KITTEN. Page 68.] [Blank Page]
Very soon after this Preston rushed into the house one morning in great
trouble, his lips quivering.
"Something ails Snowball," gasped he; "she's fainting away."
Fainting away! She was dying, and nobody could save her. All that
could be done was to watch her graceful form stiffen in death, while
everybody asked over and over, "What could have killed her?"
"She was poisoned," said Dr. Gray.
"O, O!" screamed Preston, beside himself with grief. "Then Bert did it!
Bert _must_ have done it; and I'll never forgive him as long as I live!"
"My son, my son! Never let me hear you speak in that way of your
cousin."
But Preston muttered to Ninny and Julia,--
"Why, you see, I _know_ he did it! He said something would happen to
Snowball; and he said it so spiteful!"
"Bertie Rabbit's a drefful wicked boy, an' his playfings shan't stay in
_my_ yard," scolded Flaxie Frizzle, kicking away, with her foot, Bert's
new green morocco ball that lay in the grass.
"Look there, will you! He dropped that ball when he brought the
poison," cried Preston, very much excited. "Give that ball here to me,
Flaxie".
Preston was sure now. He had made up his mind in a hurry, but he had
made it up; he _knew_ who had killed his rabbit.
Bert was not at school that day.
"I didn't _s'pose_ he'd dare to come," said Preston.
Then he took the ball out of his pocket, looked at it savagely, and
told the boys what Bertie had done.
Everybody was sorry, for Preston was a great favorite; but it is a
grave fact that a few of the boys were secretly glad of a quarrel
between two such good friends, and thought, "Now Preston will notice
the rest of us a little more perhaps." And the boys who had these
envious feelings did not try to stand up for Bert, you may be sure.
They said, "You ain't a bit to blame for getting mad, Preston. It's
pretty plain who killed your rabbit. Wonder how Bert Abbott'd like it
if you should give a sling at Old Brownie? 'Twould be no more'n fair!"
"That's so," said Preston, growing angrier and angrier, as they talked
over his wrongs, till it seemed to him he couldn't stand it another
minute without revenging himself on Bert.
"If he kills my rabbit, why shouldn't I kill his?" he argued with
himself, stealing round by Aunt Jane Abbott's on his way home from
school at noon.
Just before he reached her back gate, he picked up a smooth round stone
and aimed it at a knot in one of the boards, which he hit right in the
centre,--he was pretty sure to hit whatever he aimed at,--then he found
the stone again, and hid it in his pocket. It was about the right size
to throw at a rabbit's head.
Poor, unsuspecting Brownie! There she was, in the garden, munching
cabbage-leaves, when Preston crept toward her, looking this way and
that, to make sure nobody saw him. She heard the slight sound of his
boots, and sat up on her haunches, perfectly motionless, to listen.
Certainly he never could have had a better chance to aim at her than
then. Very slowly he put his hand in his pocket, and very slowly he was
drawing out the stone, when the loving little creature caught sight
of him, and leaped joyfully toward him in her pitiful, crippled way.
What boy, with a heart, would have harmed such a pet? Not Preston, I
hope you know! He dropped the stone, and ran home in such a hurry that
he was quite out of breath, when at the gate he met Flaxie, carrying
Snowball's drinking-dish by the tips of her fingers.
"Naughty old _fing_" said she; "I'm going to frow it down the
_scut-hole_!" (Flaxie meant scuttle.)
"Hold on, that's mine!" cried Preston, seizing the pan which he had
painted a brilliant green only a day or two before.
"No, no: I'm going to frow it down the scut-hole," persisted Flaxie.
"It killed the dear little rabbit: Dr. Papa said so."
Yes: it was the fresh paint that had poisoned Snowball. Dr. Gray had
said that at once when Flaxie had led him out to the cage to show him
the poor, stiff little body, and he saw the flakes of green soaked off
from the sides of the drinking-pan and floating on the water.
So really Preston was the murderer. Poor Preston! Didn't he hang his
head for shame? And, as for Bert, he hadn't been near Snowball for two
whole days; he had been on the sofa all that time with earache and
toothache.
"Does you feel orfly?" said little Flaxie. "You going to cry?"
"Yes, I feel orfly; but boys don't cry," replied Preston, trying to
whistle.
He tried to whistle again, when Bert, of his own accord, brought back
Brownie and said,--
"Come, Pres, let's go partner's again. Your cage is better than mine."
Preston choked up and could not speak; but, after this, he and Bert
were closer friends than ever.