But finally, “An’ the boy went out again an’ he met a lady wheelin’ a pram an’ there was a baby in the pram an’ the boy said what’ve you got in your pocket an’ the lady said I haven’t got nothin’ in my pocket an’ neither she hadn’t got nothin’ in her pocket for she only had a little baby an’ the little baby was in the pram.”
Then Ruthie looked round the gingle, smiling, and the wet audience of three, realizing that in this unfinished and unsatisfactory way the story ended, thanked her politely, and wondered whether the boy kept all his new pets safely or whether, like the original rabbit, they too escaped.
Going up the hill from Esselton they again passed the big, immovable car; it was still standing right in the middle of the road. All the passengers sat very closely together under the hood, evidently awaiting relief. Fired by Ruthie’s example, Tommy decided that he, too, would tell a story.
“There was wanst a rabbit—. An’ it went down to the beach—. An’ there was another rabbit, too—. An’ a great, big giant came down—. An’ he took away one of the rabbits, did the giant—. An’ the giant ate it all up.”
They were passing St Peter’s by this time. Draeth and home and Mammy were very near and Tommy felt unhappy inside. “I do be feelin’ brave an’ bad,” he said, lifting tearful eyes to Miss Margaret. But Miss Margaret was busily occupied with the pony and the reins, and had no sympathy to extend to a conscience-stricken boy.
In pelting rain the gingle drew up in front of Mr. Chard’s door. “Been a-sailin’, Tommy Tregennis?” asked some of the West Drayers, but Tommy felt too bad to reply.
“Been a good boy, my lovely?” asked Mammy, as she drew off his boots.
“I dunno!”
“But you must know,” said Mammy, as she buttoned the strap shoes. “Been a good boy?”