"I wasn't making fun of your voice, Mr. Caw," he said. "I think it's a
very sweet and pleasant voice. Please don't upset my raft."

The crow, a little mollified by this flattery, circled around the raft,
and surveyed the scene below with eyes filled with curiosity.

"What are you, anyway?" he called down at last. "You look like Mr. Rabbit,
but I never saw one so white before. What's your name? And what are you
doing on that raft?"

"I'm Bumper, the White Rabbit, and--"

"Rabbits are never white," interrupted the crow.

"But I assure you I am."

"Then you're not a rabbit. You're something else."

Bumper smiled and tried to look pleased. "Would you be something else if
you were white?" he asked.

Now this reference to an old fable of the crows touched a sensitive spot.
There were white crows, or at least there were rumors of them, and every
crow liked to believe the story was true. If one white crow, then why not
more? Why shouldn't all crows be white?

"Did you ever see a white crow?" the bird asked.

"Crow! Crow!" stammered Bumper. "Is that your name? I'm sorry, Mr. Crow, I
made a mistake. You see, I'm from the city, and crows don't live there."