"Poor Denny," he said, reaching up to kiss her, "him won't wake her up so early to-mollow morning."
"But we'll have to wake early to-morrow," said Denny, rather crossly still, "it's no use you beginning good ways about not waking me now, just when everything's changed."
Baby looked rather sad.
"Is your box quite ready now, dear?" said his mother. "Well then, let Lisa get you ready for bed as quick as she can, and you and Denny must go to sleep without any talking, and wake fresh in the morning."
But Baby still looked sad; his face began working and twisting, and at last he ran to mother and hid it in her lap, bursting into tears.
"Denny makes him so unhappy," he said. "Him doesn't like everysing to be changed like Denny says. Him is so sorry to go away and to leave him's house and Thomas and Jones, and oh! him is so sorry to leave the labbits!"
"And him's a tired little boy. I think it's because he's so tired that he's so sad about going away," said mother. "Think, dear, how nice it is that we're all going together, not Celia or Fritz or anybody left behind. For you know Thomas has his old mother he wouldn't like to leave, and Jones has his wife and children. And if the rabbits could talk, I'm quite sure they would tell you that they'd far rather stay here in their own nice little house, with plenty of cabbages, than be bundled into a box and taken away in the railway ever so far, without being able to run about for ever so many days."
Baby's face cleared a little.
"Betsy has p'omised," he said to himself. Then he added, "Him won't like the railway neither if it's like that."
"But him's not going to be put in a box or a basket," said mother, laughing. "Him will have a nice little corner all to himself in a cushioned railway carriage, only just now he really must go to bed."