Edwin now ran and got a saucer full of oats, and placed it beside the poor thing; he also ran to the next field, and plucked some nice sow thistle, and gave it to eat. Bunny looked grateful, and tried to eat, but could not.
Edwin, in placing his hand down by its side, felt the beatings of its heart; it went beat, beat, beat—throb, throb, throb, quicker than a watch; and every now and then its head twitched, and the skin of its jaw drew up, as if it were in great pain.
And yet the poor animal seemed glad to have some one by its side, and rubbed its nose against Edwin’s hand; and then it panted again, and its eyes grew dim; it was dying; Edwin now began to cry.
“Oh! my poor dear, dear, dear, bunny,” said he, “what shall I do to make you well?—oh! what would I give? Oh! I have killed you, for I know I have. Oh! my poor, dear bunny—let me kiss you, dear bunny”—Here the little fellow stooped down to kiss the rabbit. Just at that moment it gave a struggle—in the next it was dead.
Edwin’s eyes were full of tears, and when he could see through them, and found out what had happened, he broke out into loud sobs and cries, till he roused the whole house. “Oh! my dear rabbit—oh! I have killed my rabbit—oh! what shall I do?” he uttered, in deepest grief.
“Ay,” said his mama, who was called to the spot by his outcries, “I feared it would be thus:—who would think a house-bred rabbit could live in a damp pig-sty? The poor thing has been destroyed by neglect.”
“Oh, yes, dear mama, do not scold me; I know I have been very naughty. Oh, I do love my dear rabbit; I love it more now it is dead than I did when it was alive; but is it really dead, mama! no, is it? it is quite warm, and may get well again,—say it will, there’s a dear, dear mother,” and then he cried again.
The rabbit was, however, dead; and had caught its death in the way Edwin’s mama supposed, by being ill fed and kept in a damp place, by thoughtless, if not cruel, neglect.
Edwin was overcome with grief,—but it was now too late, sad was that night to him, for something told him that he had been cruel to that he had promised to love. He got no sleep; and early in the morning he arose, and went to the place where his pet was laid.
He wept all the next day; and, in the evening, he dug a grave in his own little garden, close by the side of a young rose tree. Then he wrapped the body in some nice hay, and laid it in its narrow cell, and placed rose leaves upon it, and covered it gently with the earth; and his heart was like to burst when he heaped the mound upon it,—and he was forced to pause in his task by the full gushing of his tears.