“They were indeed, No. 6,” replied Aunt Judy; “their grandmamma’s cook had given them one or two sometime before, and there being but few entertaining games which two children can play at alone, and these poor little things being a good deal left to themselves, they invented a play of their own out of the rabbits’ tails.  I think the pleasant feel of the fur, which was so nice to cuddle and kiss, helped them to this odd liking; but whatever may have been the cause, certain it is they did get quite fond of them—­pretended that they could feel, and were real living things, and talked of them, and to them, as if they were a party of children.

“They called them ‘Tods’ and ‘Toddies,’ but they had all sorts of names besides, to distinguish one from the other.  There was, ‘Whity,’ and ‘Browny,’ and ‘Softy,’ and ‘Snuggy,’ and ‘Stripy,’ and many others.  They knew almost every hair of each of them, and I believe could have told which was which, in the dark, merely by their feel.

“This sounds ridiculous enough, does it not, dear No. 6?” said Aunt Judy, interrupting herself.

No. 6 smiled, but she was too much interested to wish to talk; so the story proceeded.

“Now you must know that I have looked rather curiously at hares’ and rabbits’ tails myself since I first heard the story; and there actually is more variety in them than you would suppose.  Some are nice little fat things—­almost round, with the hair close and fine; others longer and more skinny, and with poor hair, although what there is may be of a handsome colour.  And as to colour, even in rabbits’ tails, which are white underneath, there are all shades from grey to dark brown one the upper side; and the patterns and markings differ, as you know they do on the fur of a cat.  In short, there really is a choice even in hares’ and rabbits’ tails, and the more you look at them, the more delicate distinctions you will see.

“Well, the poor little girls knew all about this, and a great deal more, I dare say, than I have noticed, for they had played at fancy-life with them, till the Tods had become far more to them than any toys they possessed; actually, in fact, things to love; and I dare say if we could have watched them at night putting their Tods to bed, we should have seen every one of them kissed.

“It was a capital thing, as you may suppose, for keeping the children quiet as well as happy in the nursery, at the top of the London house, in one particular corner of which the basket of Tods was kept.  But when grandmamma’s bell rang, which it did day by day as a summons, after the parlour breakfast was over, the Tods were put away; and it was dolls, or reasonable toys of some description, which the motherless little girls took down with them to the drawing-room; and I doubt whether either grandmamma or aunt knew of the Tod family in the basket up-stairs.