“Fruit?”

“Guess again.”

“Medicine for some of your father’s sick people?”

“No.”

“Flowers?  Oh no, one cannot eat flowers if they choose.  I give it up.”

“Well, then, watch,” and lifting the cover slowly, three cunning white rabbits poked their little twitching noses over the edge of the basket.

Phil gazed at them delightedly.  “And you call those little darlings something to eat, do you?”

“If you choose, yes.”

“As if any one could choose to be such a cannibal!  What precious little beauties they are!  Oh, how pretty they look!”

“They are for you.”

“Really!  Oh, thank you, Graham.  But you must ask Miss Schuyler.”

“I did, and I am to build them a hutch.  Until I do, there is an empty box in the barn where they can stay.”

“And you can build—­handle tools like a carpenter?  How nice that must be!”

“Oh, that’s nothing; all boys can do that.”

Graham forgot that Phil was one boy who could not, but seeing the shade come over his friend’s face made him repent his hasty speech.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, in a low voice.

“No, you need not, Graham.  I must get used to being different from other boys.  Well, these are just the loveliest little things I ever saw.  What do they live on?”

“Almost any green thing; they are very fond of lettuce.  When you are able you must come and see my lop-ears.”

“Have you many rabbits?”

“Yes, quite a number.  Let me see:  there’s Neb (he’s an old black fellow—­Nebuchadnezzar), and Miss Snowflake, Aunt Chloe (after the one in Uncle Tom’s Cabin), Fanny Elssler (because she jumps about so), and Mr. Prim—–­ he is the stillest old codger you ever saw.”

“What other pets have you?”

“I’ve lots of chickens, three dogs, two cats, a squirrel, and a parrot.”

“A large family.”

“Yes, almost too large; they will have to be given up soon.”

“How soon?”

“In the fall, I suppose; I am going to boarding-school.”

“What fun!”

“You would be amused with Polly.  She is a gay old thing—­laughs, sings, and dances.”

“Oh, Graham, can she do all that?”

“Indeed she can; sometimes she sings like a nurse putting a child to sleep, in a sort of humming hush-a-by-baby way; then she tries dance-music, and hops first on one foot, then on the other—­this way,” and Graham began mimicking the parrot, and Phil laughed till the tears came.

“She screams out ‘Fire!’ like an old fury, but she is as serene as a May day when she gets her cup of coffee.”

“Is that your parrot, Graham?” asked Miss Schuyler.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s our green-and-golden Polly.”

“We will have to pay it a visit.  Can you join our picnic to-morrow? it is Phil’s first one.”

“Really! why, he has a good deal to learn of our country ways.”