He felt prompted to lie, but he could not tell a falsehood then, and he stood with his teeth set.
“Whatever have you got alive in your pocket?” said the doctor. “I know. A young rabbit, for a guinea.”
“Is it?” cried Helen. “Let me look: they are such pretty little things.”
“Yes, out with it, boy, and don’t pet those things too much. Kill them with kindness, you know. Here, let me take it out.”
“No, no!” cried Dexter hastily.
“Well, take it out yourself.”
A spasm of dread had run through the boy, as in imagination he saw the doctor’s hand taking out the letter in his pocket.
“It isn’t a young rabbit,” he faltered.
“Well, what is it, then? Come, out with it.”
Dexter hesitated for a few moments, and now met the doctor’s eye. He could not help himself, but slowly took out his pocket-handkerchief, as he held the note firmly with his left hand outside the jacket. Then, diving in again, he got well hold of Sam, who was snug at the bottom, and, with burning cheeks, and in full expectation of a scolding, drew the toad slowly forth.