The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close.  He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed the Velveteen Rabbit’s ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.

“He doesn’t smell right!” he exclaimed.  “He isn’t a rabbit at all!  He isn’t real!”

“I am Real!” said the little Rabbit.  “I am Real!  The Boy said so!” And he nearly began to cry.

Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared.

“Come back and play with me!” called the little Rabbit.  “Oh, do come back!  I know I am Real!”

But there was no answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently where the two strangers had passed.  The Velveteen Rabbit was all alone.

“Oh, dear!” he thought.  “Why did they run away like that?  Why couldn’t they stop and talk to me?”

For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and hoping that they would come back.  But they never returned, and presently the sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and the Boy came and carried him home.

Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby, but the Boy loved him just as much.  He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded.  He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to the Boy.  To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about.  He didn’t mind how he looked to other people, because the nursery magic had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn’t matter.

And then, one day, the Boy was ill.

His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and his little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he held him close.  Strange people came and went in the nursery, and a light burned all night and through it all the little Velveteen Rabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that the Boy needed him.

It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all day long.  But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when the Boy should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.  All sorts of delightful things he planned, and while the Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow and whispered them in his ear.  And presently the fever turned, and the Boy got better.  He was able to sit up in bed and look at picture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side.  And one day, they let him get up and dress.