“Wuph!” said Grant, and he took hold of the basket in his teeth, and trotted on with it before her round the corner, to stop before the hutches that stood outside in the sun.
Here, if Dinny was what Gran’ma called “a good girl,” she had a treat. For this was where the rabbits lived.
Old Brownsmith sent those rabbits, hutch and all, as a present for Gran’ma, one day when John went to the market garden with his barrow to fetch what he called some “plarnts;” and when he came back with the barred hutch, and set the barrow down in the walk, mamma went out with Gran’ma and Dinny, to look at them, and Grant came up growling, sniffed all round the hutch before giving a long loud bark, which, being put into plain English, meant, “Open the door, and I’ll kill all the lot.”
“I don’t know what to say, John,” said mamma, shaking her head. “It is very kind of Mr. Brownsmith, but I don’t think your master will like the children to keep them, for fear they should be neglected and die.”
“’Gleckted?” said old John, rubbing one ear. “What! little miss here ’gleck ’em? Not she. You’ll feed them rabbuds reg’lar, miss, wontcher?”
Gran’ma said she would, and the hutch was wheeled round by the stables, Grant following and looking very much puzzled, for though he never hunted the cats now, rabbits did seem the right things to kill.
But Gran’ma soon taught him better, and he became the best of friends with Brown Downie and her two children, Bunny and White Paws.
In fact, one day there was a scene, for Cook rushed into the schoolroom during lesson time, out of breath with excitement.
“Please’m, I went down the garden, ’m, to get some parsley, and that horrid dog’s hunting the rabbits, and killing ’em.”
There was a cry from both children, and Gran’ma rushed out and round to the stables, to find the hutch door unfastened, and the rabbits gone, while, as she turned back to the house with the tears running down her cheeks, who should come trotting up but Grant, with his ears cocked, and Bunny hanging from his jaws as if dead.