the next day, preston and his grandfather rode away after old slowboy.

"they might have let me gone, too, i should fink," grumbled flaxie. "what they goin' to get in that basket? tell me, ninny."

"something nice that you never saw before," replied ninny.

when they came home that night, they brought two things that made miss frizzle's eyes dance and sparkle like stars. curled up together in a soft heap were two beautiful rabbits,—one brown, the other snow-white.

john piper, a man who had once lived at mr. abbott's, had given these rabbits to preston gray and bert abbott, for their own. it was very kind of him; but he made one mistake—he forgot to say which of the boys should have the white rabbit. the brown one was "very respectable," as ninny said; but the other was lovely—as plump and white as a snowball, with pink eyes that glowed like gems.

"poh, who cares which is which?" said bert.

"i'm sure i don't," said preston, as he hunted all over the 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[74] 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."

very soon after this preston rushed into the house one morning in great trouble, his lips quivering.

"something ails snowball," gasped he; "she's fainting away."

fainting away! she was dying, and nobody could save her. all that could be done was to watch her graceful form stiffen in death, while everybody asked over and over, "what could have killed her?"

"she was poisoned," said dr. gray.

"o, o!" screamed preston, beside himself with grief. "then bert did it! bert must have done it; and i'll never forgive him as long as i live!"

"my son, my son! never let me hear you speak in that way of your cousin."

but preston muttered to ninny and julia,—

"why, you see, i know he did it! he said something would happen to snowball; and he said it so spiteful!"

"bertie rabbit's a drefful wicked boy, an' his playfings shan't stay in my yard," scolded flaxie frizzle, kicking away, with her foot, bert's new green morocco ball that lay in the grass.

"look there, will you! he dropped that ball when he brought the poison," cried preston, very much excited. "give that ball here to me, flaxie".

preston was sure now. he had made up his mind in a hurry, but he had made it up; he knew who had killed his rabbit.

bert was not at school that day.

"i didn't s'pose he'd dare to come," said preston.

then he took the ball out of his pocket, looked at it savagely, and told the boys what bertie had done.

everybody was sorry, for preston was a great favorite; but it is a grave fact that a few of the boys were secretly glad of a quarrel between two such good friends, and thought, "now preston will notice the rest of us a little more perhaps." and the boys who had these envious feelings did not try to stand up for bert, you may be sure. they said, "you ain't a bit to blame for getting mad, preston. it's pretty plain who killed your rabbit. wonder how bert abbott'd like it if you should give a sling at old brownie? 'twould be no more'n fair!"

"that's so," said preston, growing angrier and angrier, as they talked over his wrongs, till it seemed to him he couldn't stand it another minute without revenging himself on bert.

"if he kills my rabbit, why shouldn't i kill his?" he argued with himself, stealing round by aunt jane abbott's on his way home from school at noon.

just before he reached her back gate, he picked up a smooth round stone and aimed it at a knot in one of the boards, which he hit right in the centre,—he was pretty sure to hit whatever he aimed at,—then he found the stone again, and hid it in his pocket. it was about the right size to throw at a rabbit's head.

poor, unsuspecting brownie! there she was, in the garden, munching cabbage-leaves, when preston crept toward her, looking this way and that, to make sure nobody saw him. she heard the slight sound of his boots, and sat up on her haunches, perfectly motionless, to listen. certainly he never could have had a better chance to aim at her than then. very slowly he put his hand in his pocket, and very slowly he was drawing out the stone, when the loving little creature caught sight of him, and leaped joyfully toward him in her pitiful, crippled way. what boy, with a heart, would have harmed such a pet? not preston, i hope you know! he dropped the stone, and ran home in such a hurry that he was quite out of breath, when at the gate he met flaxie, carrying snowball's drinking-dish by the tips of her fingers.

"naughty old fing" said she; "i'm going to frow it down the scut-hole!" (flaxie meant scuttle.)

"hold on, that's mine!" cried preston, seizing the pan which he had painted a brilliant green only a day or two before.

"no, no: i'm going to frow it down the scut-hole," persisted flaxie. "it killed the dear little rabbit: dr. papa said so."

yes: it was the fresh paint that had poisoned snowball. dr. gray had said that at once when flaxie had led him out to the cage to show him the poor, stiff little body, and he saw the flakes of green soaked off from the sides of the drinking-pan and floating on the water.

so really preston was the murderer. poor preston! didn't he hang his head for shame? and, as for bert, he hadn't been near snowball for two whole days; he had been on the sofa all that time with earache and toothache.

"does you feel orfly?" said little flaxie. "you going to cry?"

"yes, i feel orfly; but boys don't cry," replied preston, trying to whistle.

he tried to whistle again, when bert, of his own accord, brought back brownie and said,—

"come, pres, let's go partner's again. your cage is better than mine."

preston choked up and could not speak; but, after this, he and bert were closer friends than ever.