“That’s what I said, warn’t it?” said the farmer.  “Fan Song, Fan Chong,—­wal, what’s the odds?  ‘Twas a queer lookin’ thing, anyhow, I sh’d think, even afore it—­ Wal, I’m comin’ to that.  Sary showed it to the gals, and they liked it fust-rate; then she laid it on the kitchen table, an’ went upstairs to git some ribbons an’ stuff to put on it.  She rummaged round consid’able upstairs, an’ when she kum down, lo and behold, the bunnit was gone!  Wal, Sary hunted high, and she hunted low.  She called the gals, thinkin’ they’d played a trick on her, an’ hidden it for fun.  But they hadn’t, an’ they all set to an’ sarched the house from garrit to cellar; but they didn’t find hide nor hair o’ that bunnit.  At last Sary give it up, an’ sot down out o’ breath, an’ mad enough to eat somebody.  ‘It’s been stole!’ says she.  ’Some ornery critter kem along while I was upstairs,’ says she, ‘an’ seed it lyin’ thar on the table, an’ kerried it off!’ says she.  ’I’d like to get hold of her!’ says she; ’I guess she wouldn’t steal no more bunnits for one while!’ says she.  I had come in by that time, an’ she was tellin’ me all about it.  Jest at that minute the door opened, and Abner kem sa’nterin’ in, mild and moony as usual ‘Sary,’ says he,—­ho! ho! ho! it makes me laugh to think on’t,—­’Sary,’ says he, ’I wouldn’t buy no more baskets without handles, ef I was you.  They ain’t convenient to kerry,’ says he.  And with that he sets down on the table—­that Fan Chong bunnit!  He’d been mixin’ chicken feed in it, an’ he’d held it fust by one side an’ then by the other, an’ he’d dropped it in the mud too, I reckon, from the looks of it:  you never seed sech a lookin’ thing in all your born days as that bunnit was.  Sary, she looked at it, and then she looked at Abner, an’ then at the bunnit agin; an’ then she let fly.”

“Poor Sarah!” said Nurse Lucy, wiping tears of merriment from her eyes.  “What did she say?”

“I can’t tell ye what she said,” replied the farmer.  “What did your old cat say when Spot caught hold of her tail the other day?  An’ yet there was language enough in what Sary said.  I tell ye the hull dictionary was flyin’ round that room for about ten minutes,—­Webster’s Unabridged, an’ nothin’ less.  An’ Abner, he jest stood thar, bobbin’ his head up an’ down, and openin’ an’ shettin’ his mouth, as if he’d like to say somethin’ if he could get a chance.  But when Sary was so out of breath that she couldn’t say another word, an’ hed to stop for a minute, Abner jest says, ‘Sary, I guess you’re a little excited.  Jacob an’ me’ll go out an’ take a look at the stock,’ says he, ’and come back when you’re feelin’ calmer.’  An’ he nods to me, an’ out we both goes, before Sary could git her breath agin.  I didn’t say nothin’, ’cause I was laughin’ so inside ‘t I couldn’t.  Abner, he walked along kind o’ solemn, shakin’ his head every little while, an’ openin’ an’ shettin’ his mouth.  When we got to the stable-door he looked at me a minute, and then he said, ’The tongue is a onruly member, Jacob!  I thought that was kind of a curus lookin’ basket, though!’ and that was every word he said about it.”