"They are dreadful pretty, but I don't seem to care about 'em, thank
you," replied the mourner.

"Have the rabbits, all of them," which was a handsome offer on
Thorny's part, for there were a dozen at least.

"They don't love a fellow as a dog does; all they care for is stuff to
eat and dirt to burrow in. I'm sick of rabbits." And well he might be,
for he had had the charge of them ever since they came, and any boy
who has ever kept bunnies knows what a care they are.

"So am I! Guess we'll have an auction and sell out. Would Jack be a
comfort to you? If he will, you may have him. I'm so well now, I can
walk, or ride anything," added Thorny, in a burst of generosity.

"Jack couldn't be with me always, as Sanch was, and I couldn't keep
him if I had him."

Ben tried to be grateful, but nothing short of Lita would have healed
his wounded heart, and she was not Thorny's to give, or he would
probably have offered her to his afflicted friend.

"Well, no, you couldn't take Jack to bed with you, or keep him up in
your room, and I'm afraid he would never learn to do anything clever.
I do wish I had something you wanted, I'd so love to give it to you."

He spoke so heartily and was so kind that Ben looked up, feeling that
he had given him one of the sweetest things in the world--friendship;
he wanted to tell him so, but did not know how to do it, so caught up
his hoe and fell to work, saying, in a tone Thorny understood better