Part 14

"Bunny Rabbit," said the Man, "your ears are abnormal."

Bunny Rabbit lay crouched upon the hearthrug, blinking. At first he had found covert in the curtains, but these had been looped up. Then he had squeezed behind the bookcase and been, with difficulty, extracted. Then he had set himself to dig. The carpet had repaid him with some fluff. The doormat and the wicker chair seemed promising, but he made little headway, and so had lain down tired.

"Very abnormal ears, Bunny," the Man went on. "This smacks of the domestic. Then why so frightened?"

But Bunny Rabbit was more tired than frightened.

"More food, Bunny?" A bunch of green had lain upon the floor but every scrap had vanished.

"You've had enough for one day, Bunny. It's bedtime, up you come."

So Bunny Rabbit slept that night on blankets, he and the moonshine. The Man tossed restlessly and Bunny Rabbit watched his moving lips. Twilight crept in soft-footed, and Bunny Rabbit took three little jumps and wormed inside the bed-clothes.

* * * * *

"Slept well, Bunny?" said the Man; "it's more than I have. I've made my mind up, Bunny. I'm going. I can't bear the house. I can't bear the rooms. They're empty, empty, empty."

The Man stepped slowly down the stairs and Bunny Rabbit stumbled after him. He reached the hall and paused, then caught up Bunny Rabbit, and once more ascended. He entered every upstairs room and gazed as though to clinch them on his memory. He entered every downstairs room, and in one room, the loneliest of all, he sat and cried his heart out.

* * * * *

"We're homeless, Bunny Rabbit," said the Man. "But you're the better off, for your home's somewhere here."

They had got half-way up the slope. The Man stood tall among the ragwort, and Bunny Rabbit, with wide, frightened eyes, clung to his shoulder.

The Man stooped down, and Bunny Rabbit slid to earth.

"Now you must find your home or make one," said the Man, and Bunny Rabbit straightway tried to make one. He plunged his forepaws in the ground and scratched. The dust flew out behind and, in the midst, shot something hard and glittering.

It was a small gold locket.

The Man bent down and picked it up. He opened it and with dimmed eyes he kissed it.

"You've done me a good turn," he said--"of course it's pure coincidence," and Bunny Rabbit watched him out of sight.

A BUTTERFLY PAINT-BOX (MAY)

I wonder how many of my young readers know why these dainty flying creatures are called "Butterflies"?

We all know what butter is, and we know, too, that there are quite a number of English words which begin with "butter." It is not a pretty beginning, is it? But there it is. Let us think of a few--butter-fly, butter-cup, butter-wort, butter-fingers, butter-scotch--why, one can think of half a dozen straight away.

Now this shows us clearly that "butter" is a very old word, and that the people of long ago (who were much less clever than we are, perhaps) must have used it quite naturally when they wanted to describe anything which was squashy, or pasty, or greasy, or slippery, or yellow.

Look at the picture at the top of the next page. I wish I could have given it to you in its proper colours. It looks much nicer like that. Look at it carefully. No other English butterfly has the same pretty curves to its wings, and some of you, I dare say, will know what it is by its shape. But I must tell those who do not know. It is a Brimstone Butterfly, and its colour is bright, bright yellow with an orange spot in the middle of each wing (you can only see one wing in the picture, the other three are hidden behind it; one way to tell a butterfly from a moth is to remember that butterflies' wings close standing up, but nearly all moths' wings close down flat).

It is almost certain that this insect was the first insect to be called "Butter"-fly because of its butter colour. When people began to see that there were other pretty flying things of much the same shape, though of quite different colours, they called them all Butterflies after this first one.

So we speak, nowadays, without ever thinking of how funny it really is, of blue butterflies and white butterflies and black butterflies and purple butterflies, and red and yellow and green butterflies--all the colours of the rainbow, in fact.

We would hardly talk of black butter or purple butter, would we?

Some of you will perhaps wonder why the Brimstone Butterfly was the first to be noticed when there are so many others which are just as common.

I think I can tell you.