“No, Mother, I’ll take the other Bun. I like him. Please, Mother!”
“I think that Kenneth should have first choice,” Mrs. Wood said patiently; “because he brought Weejums home. So the mostly maltese Bun can belong to him. But if I hear another word of quarrelling about it, the rabbits will go back to the farm to-morrow.”
There was a moment of awed silence, and then Eunice said, with a sudden radiant smile: “I shall call mine Mr. Samuel Blueberry!”
“Mine will be just Bunny Grey,” Kenneth remarked. “Blueberries give me the stomach-ache.”
“Mother, can’t we have a wedding like Cousin Florence’s, and let the little bunnies get married? I’ll do it all myself.”
“Don’t you think they’re rather young yet?” asked Mrs. Wood,—“only six weeks.”
“No, but I heard Auntie say it’s better to be married young, because it gets you more used to yourself.”
“How many children would you want to invite?” asked Mrs. Wood, seriously.
“Oh, just Mary and Wyman, and their animals. And Bertha and Annabel, and Gerald and Myrtie Foster.”
Mary and Wyman Bates were the children’s cousins who lived uptown. Bertha and Annabel were Kindergarten friends of long standing, and the Foster children were school companions, whose father kept a fascinating grocery store. Many were the striped jaw-breakers, and flat “lickrish” babies, which Myrtie had brought to her friend; while Kenneth could not help admiring a boy who had a regular house, built of tin cans, in which he kept potato bugs.