returning home the fourth time, Bumper was in a disappointed mood, and felt very unhappy.

"Why is it, mother," he asked, "that no one buys me? Am I so homely that no one wants me?"

"What a question to ask, dear!" smiled mother rabbit. Then, patting him on the head, she added: "Bend down your ears, and I'll whisper a secret in them."

Bumper squatted down, and pulled both long ears toward his mother so he wouldn't miss a word.

"It isn't good for little rabbits to hear what I'm going to tell you," she whispered. "It often makes them proud and vain; but I suppose you will know it some day."

Mother rabbit sighed, as if the secret was hard to tell, and not very pleasant to hear. Mothers are very queer sometimes, even rabbit mothers.

"It's because you're so beautiful, dear!" she whispered finally. "You're whiter than any of my children, and you have the softest fur, and the pinkest eyes. Now do you understand?"

No, Bumper didn't understand a bit. He was more perplexed than ever. If he was handsomer than other white rabbits, then why didn't people buy him first? Why did they look at him, and return him to the basket, and say:

"I guess I'll take the other one?"

"It must be people don't know how pretty I am," he said finally. "What can I do to make them see?"

Mother rabbit laughed until her fat sides wobbled like a fur muff filled with playful kittens. "Dear, dear," she exclaimed, with tears in her eyes. "I thought you would understand. It's because the people don't have the money to give."

"Why don't they?" he asked, a little peeved. "Don't they have all the money they want?"

"No, dear, not all of them. Some are nearly as poor as we are, and they have to be careful of the pennies. That's why they don't buy you. The old woman asks too much for you."

This didn't improve Bumper's temper any; but right away he thought of the little girl with the red hair. "Do you think she has plenty of money?" he asked. "She was beautifully dressed, and had a rose in her hair."

"I don't know. Some people put all their money on their backs, and starve their stomachs. It may be this girl was that kind."

Bumper was sure she was wrong, for the red-haired girl didn't look starved; but she didn't have any of her birthday money left, and she confessed she'd spent it all for cakes and candies. Bumper wondered if she'd had anything to eat since, or if she was saving up her money to buy him.

That night he had another dream in which the red-haired girl appeared; but in the morning the old woman took him out of the box, and said: "It's your turn, Bumper. I must sell you to-day. I need the money badly."

Bumper was taken to the street corner with Fluffy, Dimples and Pickles. It was a cloudy day, and the old woman limped as she walked along with her basket on her arm. Damp weather always brought out her rheumatism, and sometimes made her very cross.

Dimples and Fluffy began playing they were on a ship in a storm, and when a drop of rain hit Pickles on the nose he squealed with delight, and joined them in the game. They scampered around so lively inside that the old woman stopped and opened the cover of the basket.

"Stop that!" she said quite angrily, "or I'll dump you all in the gutter!"

The threat was enough to send each to a corner of the basket, where they eyed each other and tried to think up some less boisterous game. It was beginning to rain steadily outside, and the water trickled through the top of the basket. Every time a drop hit one, he squealed, but no one dared to jump and run around.

Now rabbits don't sell very well on rainy days, especially white rabbits. Their fur gets all wet and roughened up, and they look more like half-drowned rats than pretty, fluffy bunnies. Fluffy was taken out of the basket first, but nobody took any notice of her, and when she came back she was all wet and shivery.

"B-r-r-r, it's awfully wet outside," she said, shaking with the cold. "I'm glad nobody bought me, for I'd rather be in here safe and warm than in somebody's arms."

Pickles's turn came next. He had an ingrowing toe nail, which sometimes made him grouchy and sour, so he was dubbed Pickles. He looked and acted like his name now. He squealed when the old woman picked him up in her hand, and when a splash of rain landed on the back of his neck he kicked both hind legs and wriggled his body free and fell plump back into the basket.

The old woman was very angry. "You, Pickles," she growled, "you'll go to bed to-night without any supper."

Somebody passed just then, a lady with an umbrella over her head, and the woman with rabbits to sell turned to her in her most beguiling way. "Rabbits, lady! Nice, pretty rabbits for sale!"

The lady stopped long enough to let her umbrella drip all over the basket, and then she asked: "Are they white rabbits? I don't want any other kind."

"Yes, ma'm, pure white bunnies, with pink eyes, and long, fluffy ears—the dearest and cutest little things you ever saw. Let me show you."

With that she made a grab in the basket. It was a blind-man's bluff grab, for she couldn't see one of the rabbits huddling in the corners. Bumper was the nearest, and her hand closed over him.

"That's the prettiest one I have, ma'm," she said. "He's my pet, an' I hate to sell him, but I need the money an' you can have him."

It was raining pitchforks outside, or something like that, and, for a moment, Bumper couldn't see anything but the big drops of water splashing in his eyes. Then the lady held the umbrella over his head, and he looked up into her face. She was a sweet, womanly lady, but not exactly the kind of mistress Bumper had pictured belonging to.

"He is a dear little thing," the lady said, taking him in her arms and rubbing his back. "And so friendly! Why, he's trying to cuddle up under my arm."

The fact was, Bumper was trying to get in her muff away from the dripping umbrella. He made a dive for the nearest open end, and squeezed all but his tail through.

"How cute of him! I believe I must take him. How much is he?"

Now Bumper's heart nearly stopped beating when he heard the lady ask this question, for had not his mother told him that he cost too much money for most people to buy? Did this lady have plenty of money, or did she put it all on her back and starve her stomach? She was beautifully dressed, and her cheeks were not very plump and fat—not a bit like those of the red-headed girl with a freckle on the end of her nose.

"Two dollars, ma'm, an' he's cheap at that! You don't find rabbits like him once in a year."

Bumper's hopes took a sudden drop. Two dollars! Why, Jimsy had been sold for one dollar, and Wheedles for seventy-five cents, while Topsy, who was old and fat, brought only fifty cents. My, two dollars was an awful lot of money!

"Two dollars!" repeated the lady, fumbling in her dress with one hand. Then, to Bumper's surprise and delight, she added: "I think I'll take him. I want him for my nephew. Toby's hard to suit, but I think he'll be pleased with a rabbit. What did you say you called him?"

"Bumper, ma'm!"

"That's a queer name, but I like it."

"It was because he was always bumping his nose when he was a tiny mite," the old woman explained, taking the two dollars from the lady. "His mother named him first, and then his brothers and sisters took it up, and, of course, I had to follow 'em. Rabbits don't like to be called by two