"They're Angoras," he remarked. "No, missie, I haven't time to comb them. Have you a fancy for rabbits?"
"I love them," the little girl declared. "Not to eat, I don't mean that, but as pets, you know. I've a sweet little white rabbit called Fluffy, and it's exactly like those of yours."
"What we want to know is whether you sold a young Angora rabbit to a boy called Tim Shuttleworth," broke in Bob, coming abruptly to the real business of their visit.
"Tim Shuttleworth?" repeated Mr. Dottin. "I never, as far as I can remember, heard that name before!"
"You might not know the name, but you might know the boy," said Bob eagerly. "A boy about my height, but thinner, and about my age, with red hair, a turn up nose, a wide mouth, and a freckled face."
"A very plain boy, perhaps you'd call him ugly," supplemented Kitty.
A gleam of comprehension flitted across the old man's countenance, but it passed instantly, and his answer was evasive and disappointing. "I have several customers answering to the description you have given me of—your friend, is he?" he said, gravely. "Plain people are more plentiful than handsome ones, you know. When folks do business with me I don't take much notice of their looks. Why are you so anxious to discover if this Tim Shuttleworth has purchased a rabbit from me? Come now, tell me that."
The children were quite willing to do so, and Kitty commenced a rambling account of all that had led to their visit, beginning with the sudden demise of her first rabbit, and going on to explain the mysterious advent of Fluffy; but before she had brought her story to an end, the shop door opened and a customer came in with a request to be supplied with a particular mixture of bird seed, for which Mr. Dottin was, as a ticket in the window informed passers-by, the agent. Neither Kitty nor Bob noticed that Snip entered close on the heels of the customer, and the little dog, fearful that he would be seen and summarily ejected, stole silently into a corner, and hid behind a box.
All would have gone well if Snip had remained in his corner. But as soon as the customer had gone and Mr. Dottin again turned his attention to the children, Snip crept from behind the box, and sniffing the ground as he went, with a puzzled expression on his sharp little face, as though his sensitive nostrils had scented a smell he did not understand, as indeed was the case, he stealthily passed into the parlour beyond.
A few minutes later a series of barks—sharp and aggressive—broke upon the ears of the trio in the shop; and Kitty, who was concluding her tale, stopped suddenly, and exchanged a dismayed glance with her brother.