Barry and Prue would have given him almost anything they had, for he was a great friend and crony of theirs.
"Prue," said Barry, "let's go out to the barn. I've got an apple."
"He can have my bun."
What there was left of it, that meant, for Prue's little white teeth had been at work on that bun.
That had been a troubled morning for Hannibal. Before he had finished his breakfast a party of men rode by the house, and one of them was playing on a bugle. He had set Hannibal's mind at work upon army matters and war; so when Barry and Prue came to see him, he would not even nibble. He smelled of the apple, and he looked at the bun, but that was all.
"He's getting old," said Barry.
"And fat," added Prue.
"Tell you what, Prue, let's take him out into the lot. I know mother'd let us."
That was likely, for Mrs. Dunway always felt safer about them if Nibble were keeping them company.
"I'll get on his back."