Maggie laughed again. “I am going to call you Peterkins,” she said. “Is this one of the little brothers, Belle?”
“Yes.—Come here at once, Andrew, and speak to Miss Howland.”
The boy approached shyly. Then his eyes looked up into the queer face of the girl who looked down at him. The sulkiness cleared away from his brow, and he said, in an eager, hurried, half-shy, half-confidential way, “I say, do you like rabbits?”
“Dote on ’em,” said Maggie.
“Then I’m your man, and I don’t mind being Peterkins to you; and will you—will you come and see mine? I’ve got Spot-ear, and Dove, and Angelus, and Clover. And Jack, he has five rabbits, but they’re not near as nice as mine. You’ll come and see my rabbits, won’t you, Miss—Miss––-”
“Oh, I am Maggie,” said the girl. “I’ll come and see your rabbits, Peterkins, in a minute; and I won’t look at Jack’s; but you must let me talk to your mother first.”
“There you are, Maggie,” said Belle when the boy had disappeared; “fascinating Andrew in your usual way; and Jack will be just furious, for he’s the elder, you know, and he has a temper, and you mustn’t set one of them against the other—promise you won’t.”
“Trust me,” said Maggie. “Peterkins is a nice little fellow, and I’ll manage Jackdaw too.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ll call them by those names?”
“Yes, yes. I always have my own way with people, as you know.”