“What have ye got there?” inquired Alice.
Adam carefully hung up the coat on a nail, thrust his hand into the pocket aforesaid, and produced a very small rabbit—a little furry ball with downy semi-transparent ears and bright beady eyes.
“I had to bring he along of I,” he explained, as he stroked the little creature which sat quite contentedly in his brown palm.
“How did you make en so tame?” asked Alice.
“I’ve had en nigh upon a week now. ’Tis thanks to I he warn’t made a stoat’s breakfast on. They stoats—they be terr’ble varmint. I be always on the look-out for ’em. Well, this here little chap was bein’ dragged along by a big ’un when I chanced to spy the pair of ’em. I made an end of Maister Stoat and I did take the little ’un home-along. He couldn’t feed hisself, poor little thing, but we made shift, didn’t us, little ’un? There, he can drink out of a teaspoon so sensible as a Christian.”
“Do ’ee let I give en a drap o’ milk now,” cried Alice eagerly.
The little rabbit justified his owner’s proud assertion, and after refreshing himself in the manner indicated, was comfortably stowed away in a hay-lined basket.
“I were pure glad to bring he along of I,” said Adam, for the nonce communicative; “he’ll mind me o’ the woods, d’ye see. And I’ve a-brought these, too.”
Thrusting his hand inside his waistcoat he brought out a few young fir shoots, green and tender, and deliciously aromatic as he bruised them with his strong fingers.
“Smell!” he exclaimed, thrusting them suddenly under Alice’s pretty little freckled nose.