Not
until she repeated her question did he answer her.
"I think, perhaps, a slice of brown bread would be what was wanted," he
answered smiling. The glamor of her presence was upon him.
Then she came over to him and drew his face close to hers.
"Please pass the brown bread!" she said.
A SHORT TALE OF A RABBIT
(Reprinted by permission of _Canada West Monthly_.)
Johnny was the only John rabbit in the family that lived in the poplar
bluff in the pasture. He had a bold and adventurous spirit, but was
sadly hampered by his mother's watchfulness. She was as full of
warnings as the sign-board at the railway crossing. It was "Look out
for the cars!" all the time with mother. She warned him of dogs and
foxes, hawks and snakes, boys and men. It was in vain that Johnny
showed her his paces--how he could leap and jump and run. She admitted
that he was quite a smart little rabbit for his age, but--oh, well! you
know what mothers are like.
Johnny was really tired of it, and then, too, Johnny had found out that
what mother had said about dogs was very much exaggerated. Johnny had
met two dogs, so he thought he knew something about them. One was a
sleek, fat, black puppy, with a vapid smile, called Juno; and the other
was an amber-eyed spaniel with woolly, fat legs. They had run after
Johnny one day when he was out playing on the road, and he had led them
across a ploughed field. Johnny was accustomed to add, as he told the
story to the young rabbits that lived down in the pasture, that he had
to spurt around the field a few times after the race was over just to
limber up his legs--he was so cramped from sitting around waiting for
the dogs.
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