"Ha!" sniffed young Kennilworth.
"O—h, a—jealous lover, this," deprecated George Keets. "Really, Miss Davies," he condoned, "I'm afraid to-morrow is going to be somewhat of a strain on you."
"To-morrow?" dimpled the May Girl.
"Ha!—To-morrow!" shrugged young Kennilworth.
"It was the rabbits," dimpled the May Girl, "that I was going to tell you about now. It's a very moral song written specially to deplore the—the thievish habits of the rabbits. But I can't seem to get around to the 'deploring' until the second verse. All the first verse is just scientific description." Adorably the young voice lilted into the nonsense——
"Oh, the habit of a rabbit
Is a fact that would amaze
From the pinkness of his blinkness and the blandness of his gaze,
In a nose that's so a-twinkle like a merri—perri—winkle—
And—"