stable for an old rabbit cage Crawford had brought there last year. "If we keep 'em together it's all the same."

The boys were well satisfied for awhile; but no more so than Flaxie. After saying her "big prayer," she added,—

"O God, we thank Thee specially for the wabbits; all but the cage; we had that before."

Her cold was well by this time; and she was allowed to stay in the yard as much as she chose, and watch the pretty pets. It was a funny sight to see them nibble the vegetables their little masters brought them; and Flaxie stood and threw kisses to make their dinner all the sweeter.

As the cage was Preston's, and kept in his mother's clothes-yard, it followed that Preston saw more of the rabbits, and had more care of them than Bert. But, alas, Flaxie had the care of them too! When Preston was gone to school, she hovered around them, saying to herself,—

"I mustn't lose these wabbits. It isn't my wabbits. If I should lose 'em, I should be 'spised; and, when I grow up a woman, then folks will look to me and say, 'Flaxie, where's those wabbits?'"

And, saying this, she let them out of the cage. A little while afterward, a cruel dog leaped over the fence, worried the poor timid things half to death, and, before Preston could get them back into the cage, had bitten off the beautiful white rabbit's white tail.

It was too much! Preston was very angry, not with Flaxie, but with the dog, and gave him a good beating; or it would have been a good beating if it had only hit the dog! But, after the first blow, the naughty beast ran around a corner; and that was the last seen of him, though it was not the last said or thought of him, you may be sure.

Both the boys were grieved at sight of their white rabbit without any tail, and Bert said,—

"Flaxie, what did you open the cage for?"

But she replied, with an injured air,—

"You ought to not lemme open the cage,—such a little goorl as me."

And Bert laughed, but could not help remarking to Preston,—

"Sure enough, you're a smart boy to let that young one meddle round so much."

Then Preston had to answer,—

"Well, I didn't s'pose she could turn the button, and you know I didn't; and I wish you'd hush up."

Naturally, when Bert was told to "hush up," he only talked so much the more; and we all know that talking only makes matters worse.

"If that dog had bit old Brownie, I wouldn't have cared," said Bert, trying to be provoking; "but my white rabbit! I say it's a shame!"

"Your white rabbit? What you talking about?"

"Why, John Piper was my father's hired man, sir; and you're only my cousin."

"Well, what o' that, sir? Isn't this cage mine? And would he have given the rabbits to us without a cage? No, sir: if it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have had half a rabbit, Bert Abbott!"

"Half a Bert Rabbit Abbott!" stuttered Flaxie, who never let any one be cross to her brother, except herself.

Then the words flew like hailstones,—pell-mell, sharp and thick, without mercy,—till the boys forgot that they had ever loved each other.

The very next day Brownie got her foot caught in one of Preston's fox-traps, and was lamed for life. Bert had scorned to call her his own when she was a perfect rabbit; but now, out of spite, he hunted up an old bird-cage, and went in great haste to claim her, before she got "killed dead." He said he "didn't care a cent about the old brown thing, but he wasn't going to have her abused."

"Good riddance!" cried Preston. "I don't want to see her again."

"We don't like yabbits, any but white ones," said Flaxie, keeping back her tears with a mighty effort, for she dearly loved Brownie.

"O, yes, Preston Gray, you feel mighty smart because you've got the white one," retorted Bert, in a rage; "but she won't do you much good, now I tell you! You see if something or another don't happen to her, that's all!"

Considering the bad luck that seemed to hang over Preston's things,—from his living pets down to his kites and marbles,—it was very likely something would happen to the white rabbit; and Mrs. Gray told her husband she "trembled for Snowball."