THE GARDEN THIEF

“What are we doing, Grandfather?” asked Mary Jane as she trotted along behind her grandfather and Bob.  “What are we doing and where are we going and who’s the thief?”

“No time to talk,” called Grandfather over his shoulder.  “You’ll see!  Come along and take hold of my hand.”

Mary Jane ran as fast as ever she could till she caught up with her grandfather and got a firm hold of his hand.  Then she felt better:  for when a little girl doesn’t know what is going on, she wants to have hold of something—­you know how that is yourself.  Bob led them out of the corner of the garden; across the small cornfield back of the barn; across the pasture and into the woods beyond.  There he stopped and sniffed in the bushes and through the dead leaves in what Mary Jane thought was the most curious way she had ever seen a dog act.

“Well!” exclaimed Grandfather disgustedly, “if you can’t find him any better than that—­I’ll hunt myself!” And to Mary Jane’s amazement, he too, began hunting in the piles of dead leaves where Bob was diligently sniffing.

Suddenly he cried, “Mary Jane!  Mary Jane!  Come here this minute!”

Mary Jane, who had been standing by a stump where her grandfather left her when he followed Bob into the woods, eagerly ran over to where he stood.  He waited quietly till she was clear up to him and then he reached down and lifted up a pile of dead leaves and rubbish.

“Oh, Grandfather!” exclaimed the little girl, “what are they?”

“What do you think they are?” he asked.

“I don’t think,” replied Mary Jane, “’cause I never saw them before.  But they look like the Easter things at the store.”

“Right you are!” exclaimed Grandfather much pleased.  “They’re baby rabbits—­and in one of the prettiest little nests I ever found.  I’m glad you were along to see.”

“Were they what you were hunting, Grandfather?” asked Mary Jane as she half timidly bent over the little bundle of gray and white fur.  “They wouldn’t steal your garden, would they?”

“No, not those pretty little things,” replied Grandfather, “but their father would.  Can’t say as I blame him though,” continued Grandfather, laughing, “with such a family to feed he’d naturally have to get whatever he could.  Usually the rabbits don’t bother my garden.  Well, Pussy, what shall we do with them?”

“Do with them?” asked Mary Jane.  “What is there to do?”

Grandfather looked down at the little girl; by this time she was on her knees beside the nest, and bending over the little rabbits as though she’d like to touch them but didn’t feel quite well enough acquainted.  “Shall we leave them out here or—­”

But Mary Jane didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence.

“Oh, Grandfather!” she exclaimed, “could we take them home?”