“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?”
