t him!" shrieked Toby gleefully. "I got him by the tail."

"Toby! Toby!" cried Mary, catching his hand. "Let go of him this instant."

"I won't! I won't! He's mine!"

Between Toby pulling at one end, and Mary holding the other, Bumper felt
as if he would part somewhere in the middle. He kicked with his hind legs,
and scratched Toby's hands, but the boy would not release his hold. He
gave a sharp jerk, and Bumper let out a squeal.

"You cruel, wicked boy!" exclaimed Mary, as Toby pulled the rabbit from
her arms, and swung him around by his hind legs. "Let me have him this
minute. You'll kill him!"

"No, I won't! He's mine! Isn't he, Aunt Helen? You brought him to me,
didn't you? There now, Mary, she nodded her head! I'm going to keep him."

"But, dear, you must be very gentle with him," said Aunt Helen. "You'll
hurt him carrying him that way."

"That's the way to carry rabbits, by their hind legs," replied Toby. "I
saw them in the market the other day--a whole bunch of them--hanging by
their hind legs."

"But they were dead rabbits, Toby, and not live, white ones. Now let me
show you how to hold him."

But Toby was more interested in the experiment of making Bumper squeal
than in listening to his aunt's instructions. It was better than the
squeaking camel he had or the girl's doll that said mamma every time you
squeezed it. All he had to do was to squeeze the legs or swing the rabbit
around to make him squeal. Each time he laughed and shouted with joy.

Mary could stand this cruel torture no longer. She made a dive for Bumper,
and caught him by the fore paws. In the struggle that followed Bumper was
likely to be pulled apart. What might have happened no one could tell if
the door had not suddenly opened, and a young girl, with red hair and
freckles on her nose, entered. She was humming some tune to herself or to
the doll she carried in her hands; but she stopped singing, and stared at
Toby and Mary pulling at the white rabbit.

Then she dropped her doll, and sprang forward to Bumper's rescue. "Oh,
that's my rabbit, cousin Mary!" she cried. "It's the one I wanted to buy
from the old woman, but I didn't have the money. Let go of him, Toby!
You're hurting him!"

"I won't! He's mine!" came the reply. "You let go of him!"

"He's not! He's mine!"

"He ain't! He's mine!"

"Stop that!" cried the girl, when Toby squeezed the legs so hard Bumper
whimpered with pain.

"I won't! I'll squeeze him all I want to."