"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.