and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the
opening and look out. He was shivering a little, for he had always
been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had
worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any
protection to him. Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry
canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow
he had played with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought of those
long sunlit hours in the garden-how happy they were-and a great
sadness came over him. He seemed to see them all pass before him, each
more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the
quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little
ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he
was Real. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, and all
that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's
beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real
tear, trickled down his little shabby velvet nose and fell to the
ground.

And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear had fallen a
flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like
any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the colour of
emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup.
It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay
there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it
there stepped a fairy.

She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dress was of
pearl and dew-drops, and there were flowers round her neck and in her
hair, and her face was like the most perfect flower of all. And she
came close to the little Rabbit and gathered him up in her arms and