“Yes, sir.”
You answered him as briefly as was possible and safe.
“That’s good. Do you think he has earned a pair of white rabbits, mamma?”
White rabbits!
“He has been a very good boy, and worked hard,” assured mother, smiling upon you.
“Well, we’ll see,” hinted father, also smiling.
Gee! White rabbits were a serious menace to your outworks. You perceived your defenses giving way. Stand firm, John; stand firm. You have resolved, you know; don’t be lured by tardy bribes. What are white rabbits to freedom, and revenge?
No, you will not be a traitor to yourself. Let the white rabbits come—but, like much else, they will come too late. There will be no John—no Johnny, no—no Johnny here to give them to. And you smile in sickly fashion and say nothing.
You have the afternoon before you, and your preparations to make. While, wilfully unconscious of your sinister purpose, the household again proceeds about its routine duties, you make ready. You will not carry much with you. Maybe you will take nothing at all. Shall you leave your drawers and your treasures untouched, and merely fade mysteriously from local ken, or shall you select articles enough to signify your decision?
Oliver Optic’s boys, when escaping from the authority of a harsh step-father or uncle, went away with their possessions either slung over their shoulder, tied in a bandanna handkerchief, at the end of a stick, or else contained in a trunk toted by aid of a wheelbarrow.