"It was a landslide, Auntie!" he shouted. "We all slid down the mountain together."
"Toby, how many times have I told you not to do that!" reproved Mary, while Aunt Helen turned pale and stood stock still.
Toby paid no attention to the rebuke. He was a small, freckle-faced boy. In one hand he held a whip, and in the other the broken head of a wooden horse. He picked himself up, and began slashing his toys with the whip. Bumper gave him one terrified glance, and made a desperate dive for Mary's open waist. But Toby had sharp, bright eyes.
"What you got, Mary?" he shouted, running toward her, whip in hand. "Oh, a rabbit! Yes, it is! You needn't hide him! I see him! It's a rabbit! Let me have him!"
"Be careful, Toby, you'll tear my dress."
"Let me have him! He's mine."
"No, no, Toby, don't touch him. Wait! I'll show him to you!"
But Toby was much too spry for Mary or Aunt Helen. He darted around back of them, and caught Bumper by the tail—and you know a rabbit's tail is the smallest part of him—and began pulling it. Bumper let out a squeal, and pulled the other way with all his might.
"I got him!" shrieked Toby gleefully. "I got him by the tail."
"Toby! Toby!" cried Mary, catching his hand. "Let go of him this instant."