“Yes, yes; he is so ugly; he is quite interesting,” said Maggie. She flung herself on the ground by the side of the hutch, and gazed in at the occupants as though her only aim in life was to worship rabbits.
“You take that leaf of lettuce and give it to Spot-ear your very own self,” said Peterkins. “He’ll love you ever after; he’s a most affectionate old fellow.”
Maggie proceeded to feed the rabbit. Peterkins hopped about in a state of excitement which he had seldom experienced before. Maggie asked innumerable questions. Belle seated herself on the fallen trunk of an old oak-tree and looked on in wonder.
Maggie was a curious girl. She seemed to have a power over every one. There was Andrew—such a shy little fellow as a rule—simply pouring out his heart to her.
Suddenly Belle rose. “It’s time for lunch,” she said, “and you must be hungry. Andrew, go straight to the house and wash your face and hands. No lady would sit down to lunch with such a dirty boy as you are.”
“Oh, I say, am I?” said Andrew. “Do you think so, Maggie?”
“You are a most disreputable-looking little scamp,” said Maggie.
“Then I won’t be—I won’t, most truly. I’ll run off at once and get clean, and I’ll get into my Sunday best if you wish it.”
“Dear me, no!” said Maggie; “I don’t wish it. But clean hands and face—well, they are essential to the ordinary British boy, if he’s a gentleman.”
“I am your gentleman—for evermore,” said Andrew.