ON ACCOUNT OF THE BUNNIES.

BY EMMA C. DOWD.


Pauline looked through the picket fence and scowled.

"Oh, those poor little rabbits!" she whispered to herself. "I don't
believe that boy has fed them this morning. And now he's gone off to
play ball. It is a shame!" She glanced under the grape arbor, where some
chickweed was growing luxuriantly, and for a minute she hesitated. The
next, she was down among the chickweed, pulling it up by the handful.

She approached the fence again, looked cautiously around, to make sure
nobody was in sight, and then thrust the green stuff between the
pickets.

That first time of Pauline's feeding the rabbits was followed by a
second and a third, and finally it came to be a common thing for her to
peer through the fence to see if they were supplied with food, and if
not to carry them a good meal.

One morning Pauline was feeding them with celery tips, and, having
become a bit careless, stopped to see them enjoy their feast. When she
looked up she was disconcerted to see their owner watching her--only a
few feet away.

"I beg your pardon," she began, hesitatingly, "but I just thought I'd