Page 13 - My FlipBook

That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in

the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy

hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and

sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit

could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight

hours in the nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks

with the Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy

used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the

bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived

in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when

Nana had gone away to her supper and left the night-light

burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to

sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm

chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all

night long.

And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy–so

happy that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen fur was

getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becoming unsewn, and

all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him.

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