Kitty watched the growing friendship between her brother and Tim with anything but approval. She could not overcome her prejudice against the plain-faced, red-headed boy, and, perhaps, she was a little jealous of him, too, for monopolising so much of Bob's society; besides which, she still believed he was not guiltless concerning the death of her first rabbit—for, though two years the junior of her brother, she was far more observant than he was, and she had noticed something strange in Tim's manner when he had been shown Fluffy on the night when he had first seen their guest. Tim could not help perceiving that Kitty was not altogether well-disposed towards him, so he tried to propitiate her, and frequently with such success that she forgot her suspicion against him and treated him with the same good-comradeship she exhibited towards her brother.
It made Tim very happy to be on friendly terms with the family next door, and before the time came for Kitty and Bob to return to school, he was as much at home in their house as in his uncle's. On several occasions he had noticed the covered basket he had dropped by the rabbit hutch hanging on a peg behind the scullery door, and had heard Kitty and Bob wondering why it had not been fetched; but, of course, he could not lay claim to it, and it was not until, one day, he heard Deborah—his uncle's elderly servant, who was housekeeper as well—grumbling because she could not find it, that the thought occurred to him that he ought to try to get it back.
"I suppose you've not seen my basket by any chance, Master Tim," Deborah said, coming out of the tool-house, where she had been searching for the missing article. "It's a covered basket—the one I take to market every Saturday." It was Saturday afternoon, and Deborah, wearing her bonnet and cloak, was ready to start to make her weekly purchases.
"I believe I did see it a few days ago," Tim replied evasively, turning red as he spoke. "Do you want it particularly now, Deborah?"
"Why, yes, Master Tim, I do. I always keep it in one place—on the shelf just inside the tool-house door—so someone must have moved it." She regarded Tim accusingly, noting his heightened colour.
"Perhaps I did," he admitted. "I—I tidied the tool-house yesterday."
"Didn't you see it then?" she inquired.
"No; but I'll promise to have a look for it and try to find it by-and-by. I—I can't stay now, for I'm going in town with Bob Glanville, Can't you manage to do without it for once, Deborah?"
"I suppose I've no choice, Master Tim, as it can't be found; but I haven't another basket so suitable for carrying butter and eggs in. However, I must do the best I can." And Deborah went into the house muttering something about boys being always meddlesome.
"I believe she thinks I've had the basket—and, of course, I have," thought Tim, uneasily. "I'm glad she didn't ask me what I'd done with it. Somehow or other I'll have to get it back."