Page 10 - My FlipBook

The Skin Horse Tells His Story

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the

others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and

showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had

been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had

seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and

swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away,

and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into

anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful,

and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced

like the Skin Horse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying

side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the

room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a

stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that

happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not

just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

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