saw them in the market the other day--a whole bunch of them--hanging by
their hind legs."

"But they were dead rabbits, Toby, and not live, white ones. Now let me
show you how to hold him."

But Toby was more interested in the experiment of making Bumper squeal
than in listening to his aunt's instructions. It was better than the
squeaking camel he had or the girl's doll that said mamma every time you
squeezed it. All he had to do was to squeeze the legs or swing the rabbit
around to make him squeal. Each time he laughed and shouted with joy.

Mary could stand this cruel torture no longer. She made a dive for Bumper,
and caught him by the fore paws. In the struggle that followed Bumper was
likely to be pulled apart. What might have happened no one could tell if
the door had not suddenly opened, and a young girl, with red hair and
freckles on her nose, entered. She was humming some tune to herself or to
the doll she carried in her hands; but she stopped singing, and stared at
Toby and Mary pulling at the white rabbit.

Then she dropped her doll, and sprang forward to Bumper's rescue. "Oh,
that's my rabbit, cousin Mary!" she cried. "It's the one I wanted to buy
from the old woman, but I didn't have the money. Let go of him, Toby!
You're hurting him!"

"I won't! He's mine!" came the reply. "You let go of him!"

"He's not! He's mine!"

"He ain't! He's mine!"