“After the affair had gone on for a little time, the children were accidentally in the kitchen when the rabbit-skin dealer called, and the cook begged him to give them a tail or two; and thenceforth, of course, they looked upon him as one of their greatest friends; and if they wanted fresh Tods, they would lie in wait for him in the archway entrance, for fear he should go by without coming in to call at their grandmamma’s house.  And on the day I have described, two new brothers, ‘Furry’ and ‘Buffy,’ were introduced to the Tod establishment, and the talking and delight that ensued, lasted for the whole afternoon.

“Nobody knew, I believe; but certainly if anybody had known how the hearts of those children were getting involved over the dead rabbits’ tails, it would have been only right to have tried to lead their affection into some better direction.  What a waste of good emotions it was, when they cuddled up their Tods in an evening; invented histories of what they had said and done during the day, and put them by at last with caresses something very nearly akin to human love!”

“Oh, dear Aunt Judy,” exclaimed No. 6, “if their poor mamma had but been there!”

“All would have been right then, would it not, No. 6?”

No. 6 said “Yes” from the very depths of her heart.

“As it seems to us, you should say,” continued Aunt Judy; “but that is all.  It could not have seemed so to the God who took their mother away.”

“Aunt Judy—­”

“No. 6, I am telling you a very serious truth.  Had it indeed been right for the children that their mother should have lived, she would not have been taken away.  For some reason or other it was necessary that they should be without the comfort, and help, and protection, of her presence in this world.  We cannot understand it, but a time may come when we may see it all as clearly as we now see the folly of those children who so doted upon senseless rabbits’ tails.”

“Oh, Aunt Judy, but it was still very, very sad.”

“Yes, about that there cannot be a doubt, and I am as much inclined as anybody else to say, ‘Poor little things’ every time I mention them.  But now let me go on with the story, for it has a sort of end as well as beginning.  The Tod affair came at last to their grandmamma’s ears.”

“I am so glad,” cried No. 6.

“You will not say so when I tell you how it happened,” was Aunt Judy’s rejoinder.  “The fact was, that one unfortunate day one of the Tods disappeared.  Whether it lead been left out of the basket when grandmamma’s bell rang, and so got swept away by the nurse and burnt, I cannot say; but, at any rate, when the children went to their play one morning, ‘Softy,’ their dear little ‘Softy,’ was gone.  He was the fattest-furred and finest-haired of all the Tod family, and the one about whom they invented the prettiest stories; he was, in fact, the model, the