The good woman took the baby out of the cradle, and laid it on Clara's lap, and Clara had the pleasure of dressing it herself in the nice new frock; and the baby looked so neat and pretty, and the poor mother was so pleased, that Clara was much happier than if she had spent her time in playing or working for her doll.
While Clara was nursing and caressing the baby, Charles went into the little garden, where he found Giles Bloomfield, who had just returned from working in the fields, with a beautiful milk-white rabbit in his arms, which he had taken out of the hutch, and was nursing with much affection.
"Oh, what a pretty rabbit!" said Charles. "Giles, will you sell it to me?"
"No, Master Charles," said Giles, "I cannot sell my pretty Snowball."
"And why not?" asked Charles in a fretful tone.
"Because, Master Charles, the old doe, its mother, died when Snowball was only a week old, and I reared it by feeding it with warm milk and bran; and it is now so fond of me that I would not part with it for a great deal."
So saying, he stroked his pretty favorite, who licked his hand all over, and rubbed her soft white head against his fingers.
Then Giles said: "My dear Snowball, I would not sell you for the world."
"But you shall sell Snowball to me," said Charles, making one of his ugly faces. "I will give you a shilling for her; and if you do not let me carry her home this very day, I will tell father of you, and he will turn you out of the cottage."