A Rainbow Above Us Sharon Sala

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Also by Sharon Sala
Blessings, Georgia
Count Your Blessings (novella)
I’ll Stand By You
You and Only You
Saving Jake
A Piece of My Heart
The Color of Love
Come Back to Me
Forever My Hero
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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2019 by Sharon Sala
Cover and internal design © 2019 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks
Cover image © akaplummer/Getty Images; mikroman6/Getty
Images
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of
Sourcebooks, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any
form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information
storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing
from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are
used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are
trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their
respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product
or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
sourcebooks.com
 Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11
Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Excerpt from The Way Back to You

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

About the Author

Back Cover
We have no control over the family we are born into, and as much
as we want to be loved by them, that’s not always the case.
I’m dedicating this book to the people who have to find love and
acceptance beyond the families into which they were born. No
matter how long you have to search, you will eventually find your
tribe. Just keep looking. They’re out there, waiting for you.
 Chapter 1

The skin crawled on the back of Bowie James’s neck as he pulled

into Blessings. He’d sworn never to come back here, and yet here he
was, and all because of Hurricane Fanny, and his love and loyalty to
the last two people on earth who gave a damn about him.
He’d already called about hookups at the RV/trailer park and drove
straight down Main Street, well aware of the stares his fifty-foot red-
and-black motor home and the red Jeep Cherokee he was towing
were getting.
But he was doing some staring of his own, surveying the damage
the hurricane and subsequent flooding had done here. Watermarks
were visible on the outside of buildings. A few were still boarded up
and in various stages of repair. The police station was open for
business, as was the drugstore. A beauty shop called the Curl Up
and Dye was one addition to Main Street he didn’t remember, but
the Piggly Wiggly grocery store and Granny’s Country Kitchen were
very familiar. At least he knew where he was going to eat tonight.
By the time he got to the park, he was more than ready to get out
and stretch his legs but he still had to check in at the manager’s
office, then hook up to the facilities. He’d done this countless times
in hundreds of places over the past few years, and after the business
of checking in had been taken care of, he drove to the campsite,
unhooked his SUV, and finished the setup.
 A couple in a small fifth wheel were sitting outside their little
camper grilling supper. They waved at Bowie when he got out, and
he waved back. He was well-accustomed to the RV life and how
friendly the people were who’d chosen that lifestyle, but he hadn’t
come here to make friends. He’d come to put Gran and Aunt Ella’s
world back together.
The recent hurricane that hit here had, according to the letter he’d
received from Aunt Ella, flooded their house clear up to the
windowsills. With nowhere else to go, they were residing in the local
nursing home.
The timing of Aunt Ella’s letter and the end of his last project
couldn’t have been better. His company built expensive homes in
out-of-the-way locations all over the States, and he was just getting
ready to move out when her letter came. He’d expected one of her
usual newsy letters, but when he began to read, he was stunned by
the message and horrified at what they must have lived through.

Bowie, Mama and I hate to ask, but we are desperate. Hurricane

Fanny put four feet of water in the house. In its present state, it
is uninhabitable, and we are both in the nursing home here in
Blessings. I wouldn’t ask, but we know it’s in your line of work,
and Mama cries every night, afraid she’s going to die in “this
place” as she calls it.
There is a charity house here in town called Hope House that
we might be able to use for a bit, but Mama says she’s never
taken charity in her life and she won’t start now. You know how
she is.
We know you’re on the go all the time, so I hope this letter
reaches you, and that you are in good health.
We need you.
 Love, Aunt Ella

But for them, he would never have set foot back in this town, and
he knew, as well as he knew his own name, that because of his
presence an old feud was likely to rear its ugly head once more.
However, he was here, and whatever happened, so be it.
As soon as he was satisfied that all was in order at the campsite,
he locked up, then got in the Cherokee and headed for town. He
hadn’t had anything to eat but snacks since breakfast, and if
Granny’s food was as good as it used to be, he was going to bed a
well-fed man.
The couple with the fifth wheel waved at him again as he drove
out. He waved back, and took a left at the entrance and kept
driving.
It was just after 7:00 p.m. when he pulled into the diner’s parking
lot and got out. He stretched, weary of so much sitting, then
fingercombed the too-long black hair hanging halfway down the
back of his neck, a side effect of big projects in out-of-the-way
places and little sleep. Maybe he’d find the time to get a haircut
here, he thought, and headed for the entrance.
He met a couple coming out and held the door for them, nodded
when they told him thank you, and then noticed their double take.
Shit.
It was hard to deny your heritage when the family looks ran deep
through the blood.
A strikingly beautiful woman smiled as he entered. “Welcome to
Granny’s. A seat for one?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.” He noticed the little badge on her blouse said her
name was Mercy, but out of curiosity, he asked. “Does Lovey still run
Granny’s?”
 “Yes, sir, she does. But she was injured during the hurricane and is
recovering at a friend’s house while her home is being repaired. My
name is Mercy Pittman. I’m just filling in.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Bowie said.
Mercy nodded. “We all are. This way, please,” she said, and led him
through the dining room to a smaller booth. “Your waitress will be
here shortly. Enjoy your meal.”
Bowie glanced once around the room as he sat down. Grateful he
didn’t see any familiar faces, he picked up the menu just as his
waitress appeared.
“Evening, sir. My name is Wendy, and I’ll be your server tonight.
What can I get you to drink?”
“The biggest glass of sweet tea you have on the menu,” he said.
Wendy giggled. “It only comes in one size, but I think it’ll hold you
for a bit.”
She left as abruptly as she’d arrived. Bowie was still reading the
menu when she came back with a small basket of biscuits and his
tea.
“You’ll want to dig into these while they’re still hot,” she said. “Do
you know what you want to order, or do you need a few minutes?”
“I haven’t had good barbecue in a while. How about the ribs?”
Wendy rolled her eyes and giggled again. “Everything is good at
Granny’s. You want the four-rib or the six-rib dinner?”
“I think four, with fries and coleslaw,” Bowie said.
“Coming up,” Wendy said, and pointed again at the biscuits.
“Those things are amazing. I recommend one with butter and honey
first.”
Bowie eyed the biscuits, wondering what all the fuss was about.
Granted they were a perfect golden brown on top, and he couldn’t
remember when he’d seen biscuits rise like that, but it was all about
taste. He took one from the basket, put it on his bread plate and
split it open, buttering both sides. He took a bite while he was
digging through the little containers of jams and jellies, and then
paused midchew.
Whoa, Nellie! That might be the best biscuit I ever ate.
He chewed, swallowed, then put the last half of the biscuit in his
mouth while he was buttering the second. He ate one half with
honey, and the other half with strawberry preserves.
Wendy came flying past his table on the way to deliver another
order and grinned at him.“Told you they were good, didn’t I?”
He grinned. “My compliments to the chef.”
Wendy pointed back at Mercy Pittman. “We’ve all had to switch
jobs up a bit after the hurricane, but that lady up front is the one
with the now-famous recipe. She trained a couple of subs to help us
out, but she is pure magic in the kitchen,” Wendy said.
“A woman that beautiful, and she can cook? I have to ask, is she
married?” Bowie asked.
Wendy laughed out loud. “Yes, sir, to the police chief.”
“Then my compliments to the chief as well,” Bowie said.
He made himself stop at two biscuits, but if he’d known how good
they were, he could have skipped the ribs and just ordered a bowl of
gravy to go with them. Now he was going to have to come back for
that in the morning.
He was answering a text from one of his crew chiefs when his food
arrived. He finished sending the orders, then put down the phone to
eat his meal. For just a few minutes, he’d forgotten where he was
and was simply enjoying the food, when two men walked into the
dining room and stopped to look around.
Bowie just happened to look up as they began scanning the room,
and silently cursed. He might not have recognized anyone in here,
but he’d lay odds someone had recognized him and felt obliged to
share the news.
He put down his fork, wiped his hands, and stood up. The moment
he did, they locked gazes. He saw the shock come and go on their
faces, and had a few moments of satisfaction. He wasn’t the skinny
fifteen-year-old he’d been when they last saw him. He was bigger
and taller than either one of them and, from the sizes of their
bellies, in much better shape.
He took a step forward, and when he did, they turned around and
bolted out of Granny’s.
All Wendy saw was the man at her table standing up, and she
hurried over to refill his tea.
“I’m sorry. I should have been here sooner. We’re extra busy
tonight.”
She topped off his tea as he sat back down.
“You’re fine,” Bowie said. “But I have a little business to attend to.
Do I pay you or—”
“No, sir. You pay at the register as you go out.” She pulled his tab
from her order pad. “Would you like for me to box up your
leftovers?”
“Not this time, but I’ll probably be back for biscuits and gravy in
the morning,” he said.
“Then, thank you, and enjoy the rest of your evening,” she said,
her eyes widening as he tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the table for
her tip and headed for the exit.
Bowie was right in guessing that he’d been recognized, but the
people who’d seen him come in, and then subversively watched him
throughout his meal, hadn’t meant to stare. They just thought they
were looking at a ghost.
 Bowie didn’t look anything like the kid he’d been when he and his
mother left Blessings in the middle of the night. The fact that he’d
grown into the spitting image of his grandfather, Judson Boone,
must have been as startling to his sons as it was to Bowie every time
he looked in a mirror.
Once outside the restaurant, Bowie stopped and scanned the
parking lot, waiting. He knew they were there and called out.“What
are you waiting for?”
They came out of the shadows, one from his right, the other from
his left.
Emmitt Boone had a baseball bat.
Melvin Boone was brandishing his brass knuckles, gleaming
beneath the lights on his short, fat fingers.
Melvin was a couple of steps closer and ran at Bowie with a fistful
of brass.
Bowie waited until Melvin was about to swing a fist, then stepped
aside and gave Melvin a quick karate chop to the throat.
Melvin squawked, grabbed his throat, and fell flat on his face.
Bowie heard Emmitt coming up behind him and spun, took out the
bat in Emmitt’s hand with one kick, and followed up with a fist to his
nose.
Emmitt yelped as blood spurted and dropped flat on his back.
Bowie stood over both of them, staring. “Where’s Randall? Is he
hiding out there in the dark, or are you two all there is?” he asked.
Emmitt moaned. “Randall is dead.”
“That’s fair enough,” Bowie muttered.
“You broke my nose,” Emmitt cried.
“No, you ran into my fist,” Bowie said. “I did not start this. I came
here to fix my gran’s house, and then I’ll be leaving, so you’ve been
warned. While I’m here, stay away from me. Because if you don’t, I
will take all of you through court and bare every shameful secret
you’ve been hiding in the process. Now you crawl back to your
daddy and remind the old bastard that the sooner I’m gone, the
sooner my obvious resemblance to him will be forgotten.”
Melvin had rolled over onto his back, still gasping for air, still
unable to do more than squawk.
Emmitt had a handkerchief jammed up both nostrils, but the blood
was still running between his fingers.
“Daddy’s not gonna like this,” Emmitt whined. “He told you and
your mama he would see you both dead if you came back.”
Bowie bent over them, his voice barely above a whisper. “My
mother killed herself the day after my eighteenth birthday. In my
eyes, you’re all responsible. So. Don’t. Piss. Me. Off. Understand?”
The shock of what he’d done to them—and without breaking a
sweat—was beginning to set in. And the threat in his voice was too
real to ignore. They nodded.
Bowie left them sitting in the dirt as he drove away, but the rage
inside him was so strong that instead of driving straight back, he
swung by his old high school, only to find out there was a football
game in progress.
Curiosity won out as he parked, got out, and walked across the
parking lot to pay at the gate, then went all the way up to the
bleachers before he stopped. The crowd was loud. Someone had
just completed a pass that took the home team all the way to the
five-yard line.
A man in the stands glanced his way, then stared. Bowie shifted his
position and moved beneath the bleachers until he could see the
field from between the seats.
Once this had been his biggest dream, to be good enough to make
the Blessings High School football team. Only back then he wasn’t
very tall, and he’d been skinny—not exactly football material.
He watched the quarterback receive another snap, then pull a
quarterback sneak and dash across the goal line before the opposing
team saw what was happening.
The crowd erupted into screams and cheers of delight. Bowie
thought about sitting on the bleachers to watch, but he’d already
pushed his luck for the night. If it hadn’t been for that damn
hurricane, he wouldn’t even be here, and it was time to get some
rest.
He drove back to the trailer park without incident, set the alarm on
the car as he got out, and then went inside. He turned on all the
motion-detector lights affixed to the front and back, then set the
security alarm inside the motor home as well. Without hesitation, he
walked straight back to his bedroom, opened the safe, and removed
both a Taser and his loaded handgun. He put the gun beside his bed
and took the Taser to the living room with him.
He was tired. He’d planned on going to bed early, but now he was
too wound up. Instead, he closed all the shades, turning off the
lights as he went and turning on the TV as he passed it on his way
to the wet bar. He poured himself two fingers of bourbon, neat, then
returned to his easy chair and scanned the stations with the sound
on Mute.
Finally, he settled on a show on HGTV and began watching a team
renovating a home in Maine that had been built in the early eighteen
hundreds. He slowly sipped on the bourbon, while working on his
laptop, until he began to relax.
He thought about Gran and Aunt Ella. They didn’t even know he
was coming, but they were going to get a surprise tomorrow
morning. Not only had he come back to Blessings to fix their house,
but he was rescuing them from the nursing home and bringing them
back here to stay during the renovation. They could have his
bedroom and private bath, and he’d bunk out here for the duration.
There were two pieces of furniture in the living area that turned into
beds, as well as another, smaller bath, and the motor home was
huge by motor home standards.
The kitchen was state of the art, so Aunt Ella would have no
trouble making their meals while he was at work during the day.
Whatever discomfort he experienced by giving up his space was
worth it to know they were happy and safe.
After a couple of hours, he shut down his laptop, turned off the
television, and went to take a shower. He emerged a short while
later wearing an old pair of gym shorts that he slept in, then put his
cell phone on the charger and the Taser next to the handgun before
crawling into bed. He thought about setting the alarm clock, and
then fell asleep before he did it.
But as it turned out, a different alarm, the car alarm, went off just
before daylight. Bowie swung his long legs out of bed, grabbing the
Taser as he raced to the front door. The moment he opened it, the
security alarm inside his home began going off, too, but he didn’t
stop to disarm it.
Motion-detector lights were already on as he ran out, highlighting
the fact that his Cherokee had just been keyed, and then he caught
sight of a teenage boy running away.
“Stop!” he yelled, but the kid didn’t slow down.
Bowie had the advantage with longer legs, and as soon as he got
close enough, he fired the Taser. The prongs hit the middle of the
boy’s back, and seconds later, he was on the ground, writhing in
pain.
The couple in the fifth wheel came out, looking wild-eyed and
scared.
 “Everything’s okay!” Bowie said. “But I need you to call the police.
I just caught someone vandalizing my car.”
The older man waved to indicate he’d heard and darted back inside
their trailer, while the woman just stood there, staring.
It occurred to Bowie, a little too late, that the old gym shorts he
slept in were seriously small, and he was close enough to naked that
the possibility of being arrested for indecent exposure might exist.
Nothing like bringing down the house his first morning here.
He knelt down beside the kid and pulled the barbs out of his back,
then grabbed him by the arm and yanked him upright.
“What name do you go by besides Dumbass?” Bowie asked.
The kid just shook his head. Either he was still reeling from the
shocks, or he wasn’t willing to talk.
“Fine. Dumbass works for me,” Bowie said, and dragged him back
to the car, shut off the alarm, and then opened the hatch. He pulled
out a roll of duct tape and taped the kid’s wrists together behind his
back, then sat him down and taped his legs together at the ankles.
“That hurts,” the kid muttered.
Bowie looked up. “No, it doesn’t, and we both know it.”
The kid started to respond, and then the look on Bowie’s face
changed his mind.
By now, lights were coming on all over the trailer park and men
were coming out carrying everything from hunting rifles to baseball
bats. Bowie watched one big redheaded man stomping toward them,
waving a bat and yelling.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Bowie pointed at his prisoner. “Damned kid keyed my car and set
off the security alarm. Don’t let him move. I need to shut off the
alarm inside.”
 The man glared down at the kid, who persisted in staring at his
own feet.
Bowie bolted through the doorway, turned off the alarm, then ran
toward his bedroom, grabbed the jeans he’d taken off last night, put
them on, and was back outside within less than a minute.
“Thanks,” Bowie said. “I’m Bowie James. I appreciate the help.”
“I’m Yancy Scott, but most everybody calls me Red. That’s some
rig you have there. You must have come in last night.”
Bowie nodded. He could hear sirens. “Sorry about all the noise. It
wouldn’t have happened except for the dumbass who refuses to
identify himself.”
Red grinned. “I don’t know his name, but I do know he’s Emmitt
Boone’s boy.”
Bowie turned around and stared. “Is that so?” he said. “Did your
daddy send you, or was this all your bright idea?”
The kid looked up, and the hate on his face was easy for Bowie to
read.“You broke my daddy’s nose last night,” he said.
“Why, yes, I did. I don’t suppose he mentioned that he and your
uncle, Melvin, ganged up on me in the parking lot at Granny’s. Mel
had brass knuckles, and your daddy had a baseball bat. If they had
minded their own damn business, none of this would have
happened. And now you have done the very thing I warned them
not to do.”
The boy looked stunned by the news and then frowned. “What did
you warn them not to do?”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Bowie said, and looked up just
as the first of two police cruisers came flying into the trailer park,
lights flashing and sirens screaming.
Chief Lon Pittman was the first out of the vehicle, and his deputy,
Ralph Herman, pulled up behind him and got out on the run.
 Lon quickly scanned the scene and saw only one person he didn’t
know.
“I’m Chief Pittman. What’s going on here?” he asked.
“My name’s Bowie James. I arrived here last night and was still
asleep this morning when my car alarm began going off. I ran
outside with my Taser, saw the key marks on my vehicle and this
dumbass running away. I chased him, tasered him, and dragged him
back here so I could shut off the alarms.”
“Woke us all up,” Red said.
The neighbors from the fifth wheel had joined the crowd.
“He’s telling the truth,” the man said. “Me and Jewel saw the boy
running away and this fella chasing him down.”
“I assume you want to press charges,” the chief said.
Bowie nodded. “Yes. The damage to my Cherokee is going to cost
enough to make this a felony, too.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “I’m a juvenile. I’m only fifteen.”
“Being stupid and underage still gets you arrested,” Bowie said.
The kid was bordering on tears. “But Chief, he broke my daddy’s
nose last night.”
“Tell him the rest of the story,” Bowie said.
“But I didn’t know that at the time,” the boy muttered.
Bowie shrugged. “You can ask Emmitt and Melvin what happened
last night in Granny’s parking lot and see if they want me to file
charges against them, too…for assault.”
Lon frowned. “Obviously there’s something going on here I don’t
understand.”
“Nothing but an old feud,” Bowie said.
Lon’s frown deepened. “Between who?”
Bowie shrugged. “You’re new to Blessings since I lived here. It was
common knowledge then. My mother was raped by Randall Boone.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
Tim's visit did much to cheer Kitty, and she asked him to come again,
which he accordingly did very willingly. She began to think that she
had been mistaken in believing it had been he who had stolen the
covered basket; but she could not entirely rid her mind of the
suspicion that he had had something to do with the mysterious death
of the first rabbit, though she would gladly have done so.

And Tim, when he met the gaze of Kitty's honest blue eyes, was
often conscience-stricken, remembering how she had asked him
point blank if he had overturned the box which had held her rabbit,
and he had answered, "No, certainly not." What would be her opinion
of him if she ever found out his untruthfulness? He was beginning to
think less of the impetuous act which he had done in his temper than
of the denial he had uttered; and now he knew the Glanvilles, he saw
that they would more easily understand and overlook the revengeful
deed than the deliberate falsehood, for both Kitty and Bob were
particularly honourable children. How difficult it would be to make
them believe that he did not tell stories as a rule, but that he had
succumbed to temptation because he had been lonely and desired
their friendship, which he had feared he would never gain if he
confessed the truth.

It was nearly a week before Kitty was fit to stand on her injured foot
again, and then she was only able to limp about—"a lame duck," her
brother called her. Nevertheless, she declared her intention of
attending the grammar school sports. And, much to her joy, Dr.
Richards gave it as his opinion that it would do her no harm to go, if
she was driven to the ground where the sports were to be held, and
sat down as much as she could whilst she was there. Accordingly,
when the long-looked-forward-to afternoon arrived, she drove off in a
cab with her mother and father and Tim Shuttleworth in the best of
possible spirits.

The ground belonging to the grammar school was a short distance

out of the town. And as the cab drew up at the entrance gate, Bob,
wearing his colours—pale blue and silver, which his sister had
chosen—left the group of boys with whom he had been chatting, and
ran up to it.

"You'd better come and sit on one of the seats near the hedge, Kitty,"
he said, as he assisted the little girl to alight. "They're going to run off
the heats first of all, and you'll have a good sight from there. See,
there's an empty seat with room for all of you; and there's a board for
you to put your feet upon, so you can't possibly catch cold."

Bob led the way with his sister, and the others followed. It was a
beautiful May afternoon, warm and sunshiny, and there were a lot of
visitors present, for the grammar school at B— numbered many
pupils, who had brought their relations and friends to witness the
sports. By-and-by the town band arrived to play selections of music
between the various performances.

"Have you seen Tom Hatch?" inquired Kitty of her brother.

"No; but one of the masters told me he was here with his people,"
Bob replied. "I expect I shall run against him presently. Shall I tell him
you want to speak to him, Kitty?"

"Yes, do," she said, eagerly.

At that moment her brother was called away, and she turned to Tim,
who was seated next to her, and entered into conversation with him.
He had not heard what she and her brother had been saying, for he
had been talking to Mrs. Glanville, who was on his other side. Very
shortly after that the sports commenced, and Kitty had no eyes but
for those engaged in them, all of whom she knew by sight, if not to
speak to.

Much to his sister's delight, Bob distinguished himself on several

occasions that afternoon, more especially in the high jump, in which
he easily beat the other competitors of his age.

"He will get the first prize," Kitty whispered to Tim, a thrill of intense
gratification in her voice. "I'm so glad."
"So am I," returned Tim heartily, and he rose and went with Mr.
Glanville to offer Bob his congratulations.

"Your father is going to get us some tea presently," remarked Mrs.

Glanville to her little daughter. "It will be nicer to have it here than in
the refreshment tent."

"Yes," agreed Kitty. "Oh, mother, there's Tom Hatch!" she cried a
moment later, as a boy of about Bob's age passed the seat, and took
off his cap to them. "Oh, Tom, stop a minute!"

There was nothing for Tom to do but to come back and shake hands
with Mrs. Glanville and Kitty. He was a shy-looking boy, and his
manner was rather embarrassed.

"I wanted to see you to speak to you about that rabbit—" Kitty was
commencing, when he interrupted her hastily.

"Oh, yes!" he exclaimed, growing very red. "I was so sorry I couldn't
let you have it after all. The truth is, I—I sold it, and made a good
price of it. I ought to have let you know, of course; but I was so
rushed for time, and—I hope you didn't mind?"

"But you did send the rabbit!" said Kitty, looking bewildered. "At least,
I suppose it was you who sent it, for I found a dear little rabbit had
been put in my hutch, and as you had told Bob you meant to give me
one I guessed it had come from you."

"Yes, yes, I did tell him you should have one," Tom admitted. "But I—
well, I broke my word, I'm afraid. In fact," the boy added in greater
confusion than before, "I—I acted awfully shabbily about it."

"Then you didn't send the rabbit?" the little girl gasped. "Oh, please
understand I'm not a bit angry, but—" her eyes opening in a wide
stare of incredulity, "I should like to be quite certain."

Tom shook his head. "No," he said emphatically, "I give you my word
I didn't send it. Somebody else must have done it as a surprise. At
any rate, the rabbit wasn't mine."

CHAPTER IX.
GENERAL BEWILDERMENT.

WHEN Mr. Glanville returned to his wife and little daughter, as he did
ten minutes after he had left them, bearing a tray which held their
tea, Kitty inquired eagerly where her brother was, and received the
reply that, at the present moment, he was engaged in eating sponge-
cakes and ices in the refreshment tent, in company with Tim
Shuttleworth.

"You don't want him, do you, my dear?" asked Mr. Glanville, noticing
she was looking excited, and hoping he and her mother had not
acted unwisely in bringing her to the sports.

"No," Kitty responded; "but I have seen Tom Hatch. And, oh, father,
what do you think? He never sent me that rabbit he told Bob he was
going to give me, after all! And now I can't imagine where Fluffy
came from. You may well look surprised. I consider Tom served me
very shabbily. He ought not to have made a promise and then have
broken it."

"I could not help pitying him when Kitty spoke to him about the
rabbit," Mrs. Glanville said, smiling at the remembrance of the boy's
embarrassed countenance. "It must have been very awkward for
him."
"Very," agreed Mr. Glanville. "I don't wonder that you are astonished,
Kitty; I confess I am."

"And I was so grateful to Tom!" exclaimed Kitty. "I thought he had

been so very kind. Dear me, how puzzled I do feel!"

"The mystery now is, who made you a present of your rabbit?" Mr.
Glanville said. "But, come, my dear, drink your tea, and eat
something. Don't let this surprise spoil your appetite."

Kitty did not, but enjoyed her tea immensely. The junior high jump
had been the last item on the programme, and after a short interval,
during which most of the visitors sought the refreshment tent, it was
followed by the distribution of the prizes, which were given away by
the head master's wife.

It was a proud moment for Kitty when she saw her brother presented
with the cup he had won for the high jump, and a prouder still when
he made his way through the crowd of spectators, who cheered him
heartily. He placed his prize into her hands, with the request that she
would take it home for him.

"I've introduced Shuttleworth to Jack Richards, and Jack's asked us

both to go back to his house to high tea with a lot of other fellows, so
we shan't be going home with you," he explained. "I've father's
permission to go, and he's promised to tell Mr. Shuttleworth, Tim's
with me, so that will be all right."

"Oh, yes," answered Kitty, in rather a disappointed tone, for she was
longing for a talk with her brother, to tell him about her interview with
Tom Hatch, as well as to discuss the events of the afternoon.

"I'm glad you're having a good time, Bob," she continued more
brightly, "and I'm so very proud you've won this beautiful prize."

"So am I," said Mrs. Glanville. "It is a very handsome cup, and it shall
have a prominent place on the sideboard, I promise you. Go back to
your friends, my boy; your father will see to us."
As soon as the prize-giving was over, Mr. and Mrs. Glanville and
Kitty drove home. Mr. Shuttleworth, when informed that his nephew
would not return till later, as he was going to take tea with Bob and
several other Grammar School boys at Dr. Richards's, was quite
satisfied, and expressed himself very pleased at Tim's having
increased his number of acquaintances in the place.

Kitty, who was very tired after the excitement of the afternoon, went
to bed somewhat early. But she knew she would not be able to sleep
until she had seen her brother, and desired that the moment he
came home he might be sent upstairs. When at last he returned, it
was nearly nine o'clock, and Kitty had grown impatient.

"Tired, old girl?" he asked, as he entered his sister's room, and

having turned up the gas, sat down on the edge of the bed. "We've
had such a splendid time," continued he, without waiting for a reply.
"Mrs. Richards had got us a first-rate tea—ham and pickles, and
jams and cake; and the doctor was there, and was ever so jolly. Jack
Richards has taken quite a fancy to Tim; they're the same age—that
is, Jack was eleven last October, and Tim was eleven in January;
and—"

"Oh, Bob, let me tell you about Tom Hatch," interposed Kitty. "I hadn't
the chance of speaking to you about him this afternoon. Do you
know he never sent me that rabbit he told you he'd give me? He sold
it instead. It was very mean of him, wasn't it? Did you ever hear of
anything meaner? I don't think I ever did, and father says the same.
It makes me so cross to remember how kind I've been thinking him,
and how grateful I've felt. Fancy promising to make a present and
then not doing it! I can't imagine how anyone can behave like that!"

"But—but—he didn't send the rabbit, you say?" questioned Bob,

every whit as astonished as Kitty and his parents had been a short
while previously. "Then who did send it? What about Fluffy?"

"Ah! that's what I want to know!" exclaimed Kitty. "Isn't it puzzling?

Some one must have put Fluffy in the hutch; but who?"
"Well, I am amazed, simply amazed!" declared Bob. "I should think it
is puzzling! Of course I thought Hatch had sent the rabbit, as he had
told me about it. I didn't speak of it till we found it in the hutch,
because I knew Hatch's word wasn't to be relied on. What a muddle
the whole affair is!"

"Yes," agreed Kitty. "Mother and father say the same. I've been lying
here thinking of it, and the more I think the more bewildered I get. If
only Fluffy could speak!"

"Or Snip," said Bob, with a laugh. "He knows as much as any one,
for I expect he saw the person who brought the rabbit. Don't you
remember what a row he kicked up?"

"Yes, of course, Bob," said Kitty, dropping her voice to a solemn

whisper and speaking hesitatingly. "You don't think that—that it could
have been Tim Shuttleworth, do you?"

"Why, no, Kitty. What could have put such an idea into your head?
It's not in the least likely. If Tim had wanted to make you a present,
he needn't have done it in that way."

"I suppose it's an absurd idea; but—but we hardly knew Tim then—"

"Which makes it all the more unlikely that he would think of giving
you a rabbit," Bob interposed decidedly.

"You know I thought it was he who took the covered basket from
behind the scullery door," the little girl reminded her brother, after a
brief silence, during which they had both been pondering deeply.

"So you did. I had forgotten that for the minute." Bob paused, and
after a little further reflection continued gravely, "I tell you what, we
won't say a word to Tim about Tom Hatch's not having sent the
rabbit; but I'll make a few inquiries and try to find out where Fluffy
came from. I dare say I shall get at the truth. Lots of the Grammar
School boys keep rabbits, and they'll be sure to know who keeps
Angoras."
"I believe Fluffy is pure-bred," observed Kitty complacently. "The
butcher's boy said so, and I expect he knows."

"I dare say. Perhaps it was foolish of me to take it for granted that
Tom Hatch had kept his word; but when I saw the rabbit I never
dreamt of suspecting it came from anyone else. Not a word to Tim,
mind."

"Oh, no, and we must tell mother and father not to mention the
matter to him! Oh, Bob, if it should have been Tim—"

"Well, what then?"

"I—haven't been always nice to him," the little girl admitted, "and I've
thought that he was spiteful and untruthful. Suppose I should have
been quite wrong? He has been very kind to me since I fell off the
apple tree—often I should have been dreadfully dull if he hadn't
come in and talked to me. And if I find out that he gave me my dear
Fluffy, I shall feel so bad about having been against him."

"Oh, well, I wouldn't worry about that," was the careless response.
"You know I took against him at first, but I soon found out he was a
jolly nice fellow, and he's very generous. His uncle tipped him half-a-
crown before he started for the sports this afternoon, and he stood
Richards and me sponge-cakes and ices—fourpenny ices, too. He
would do it."

Kitty sighed. Hearing this made her more than ever inclined to
believe that she had greatly misjudged the boy next door.

Meanwhile, Tim was being questioned by Mr. Shuttleworth as to how

he had spent the afternoon and evening; and, finding his uncle
appeared really interested in his doings, he gave him a glowing
account of the athletic sports, which told how much he had enjoyed
them.

"I should like you to see Bob Glanville's cup which he won for the
high jump, Uncle John," he said. "I am sure he would be pleased to
show it to you. Don't you think his people must be very proud of
him?"

"I dare say they are," Mr. Shuttleworth replied. "He is a fine,
handsome boy. So the girl has quite recovered from the results of
her accident?"

"Oh, yes; she went with us this afternoon, you know. She's still a bit
lame, but she's nearly all right; and she's going back to school on
Monday—she isn't keen to go, but Mrs. Glanville says, as she was
well enough to go to the sports, she must be well enough to go to
school. Bob introduced me to a lot of boys, uncle, but I think I like
Jack Richards the best. Wasn't it jolly of him to ask me to his house
to tea? His father said he might. Do you know Dr. Richards, uncle?"

"Merely by sight. I am thankful to say I have never needed his

professional services. But I have heard him well spoken of as a
clever doctor, and I believe he is very popular in the town. How
would you like to be a pupil at the B— Grammar School, Tim?"

"As a boarder, do you mean, Uncle John? Father is always talking of

sending me to boarding-school, but I don't believe he can afford it.
How I wish he could send me to the Grammar School here!"

"You would like that?"

"Rather! But it's so far away from home—my journey money to and
from for the holidays would be so much, wouldn't it?"

"I think B— suits you," Mr. Shuttleworth observed, regarding his

nephew thoughtfully. "You are looking much better than when you
arrived."

"And I am feeling better," Tim rejoined brightly. "I used to get so

shaky sometimes, but now I never do."

Mr. Shuttleworth nodded, well pleased. "Tim," he began seriously by-

and-by, "I've been considering that I do not altogether like your
receiving so much hospitality from our neighbours next door without
your making some return."

"Oh, Uncle John!" cried Tim, fearing he was going to be told that he
must not continue to run in and out of the Glanvilles' home.

"What do you say to asking the Glanville children to spend next

Saturday afternoon with you here?" suggested Mr. Shuttleworth.
"Deborah would do her best to get you a nice tea, I'm certain."

"Oh!" Tim's tone had changed to one of surprise and pleasure, whilst
his face was one broad beam of delight. "I am sure Kitty and Bob will
be very pleased to come; Kitty was saying the other day she had
never seen the inside of your house."

CHAPTER X.
SNIP INTRUDES.

"I'VE accepted an invitation for you, children," Mrs. Glanville said to

Kitty and Bob during the dinner hour on the Monday following the
athletic sports. "Tim came in this morning and asked my permission
for you to take tea with him next Saturday afternoon."

"How nice!" exclaimed Kitty. "Of course, his uncle told him to ask us,
mother?"

"Yes," Mrs. Glanville assented. "He brought a polite message from

Mr. Shuttleworth."
"I rather wanted to play cricket on Saturday afternoon," said Bob,
who was not so elated at the prospect of spending an hour or so
next door as his sister. "But I suppose if you accepted the invitation,
mother, we must go."

"Of course we must go," interposed Kitty. "Oh, please Bob, don't try
to back out of going."

"I won't," Bob answered, laughing. "Come outdoors, Kitty; I've

something to say to you privately," he added in a lower tone.

"I say, Kitty," Bob commenced, when the garden was reached, "do
you know I'm beginning to think Fluffy may have come from Tim
Shuttleworth, after all, and I'll tell you why I think so. When I got
home from school half an hour ago, I thought I'd come in by the back
door, and there, standing watching your rabbit, was the butcher boy
—he delivers meat at Mr. Shuttleworth's too, it seems."

"Yes, he's been with Mudge, the butcher, for a long while," remarked
Kitty. "His name's Dick Dart, and his mother's a widow who takes in
washing—I've heard him tell cook so. Last year he received nearly
five pounds in Christmas-boxes, and he's going to save his money to
start for himself."

"Oh, never mind that," broke in Bob, who was not interested in the
ambitions of the butcher boy, like his sister, whose nature it was to
concern herself in other people's business. "But listen to me. There
was the fellow watching your rabbit, as I said before."

"'That rabbit is getting as fat as butter,' he said, 'and its coat

improves every day. Old Dottin would hardly know it.' I stared at that.
'Isn't it one of old Jacob Dottin's?' he went on, seeing, I suppose, that
I was very surprised. 'I don't know,' I answered, 'someone made a
present of it to my sister.' He laughed and winked. 'I understand,' he
said, it's a secret who that someone is, but I expect it's the same
person I recommended to go to old Dottin when he asked me if I
knew anyone who had rabbits to sell.' 'Who was that?' I inquired.
He's an aggravating boy, Kitty, he wouldn't tell me; but putting two
and two together I think he may have meant Tim Shuttleworth, for
Tim knows Jacob Dottin."

"Why, of course he does!" cried Kitty, excitedly. "He promised to take

us to see the old man's animals and birds; we must remind him of
that—no, we won't, though! I'll tell you what, Bob, you and I will go
and see Jacob Dottin without Tim, and find out if he ever sold Tim a
rabbit. I feel I shall never rest till I know, for certain, where Fluffy
came from. If we learnt our lessons in the dinner hour to-morrow,
couldn't we go to the old man's shop in the evening? I don't suppose
he closes it very early."

It was easy for Kitty and Boy to slip off quietly the following evening,
for Tim did not seek their society, believing they would be engaged in
the preparation of their lessons for the next day, and Mr. and Mrs.
Glanville were out, having gone to call on some friends. But one pair
of sharp eyes kept watch on their movements, and they had not
gone far from home before they became aware that Snip was
following. The little dog appeared to know instinctively that they did
not wish him to accompany them, for he persistently lurked behind
only just keeping his mistress and master in sight.

When Kitty and Bob looked behind, he dawdled, pretending not to

see them, as though he was taking a walk on his own account; but
the minute they turned their heads, he hastened after them again.
When Jacob Dottin's shop was reached Snip was just turning the
corner of the street. So Bob opened the shop door quickly, and,
pushing his sister in before him, entered himself, and shut the door
behind him.

"What can I do for the pretty little lady?" Mr. Dottin proceeded to
inquire amiably. "Sell her a singing bird, eh? I've a wonderful
collection of canaries, varying in price from five to fifteen shillings.
There's one now—a young one—singing as though he'd split his
throat. Too noisy? Well, well, that's a matter of taste, of course.
There's another whose song is not quite so shrill."

"I don't want to buy a canary, thank you." Kitty returned politely.
"Then what do you think of these love-birds, missie? You shall have
the pair cheap."

"The fact is we don't want to buy anything to-night," said Bob frankly.
"But we wish to ask you a few questions, if you'll be so good as to
answer them."

"Indeed?" The old man's smiling countenance changed somewhat.

"And suppose I decline to answer your questions, what then?" he
inquired.

"Then we shall be as wise as we are now, no wiser," Bob said, with a

laugh. "Oh, I say, Kitty, look at those white rabbits," he cried, turning
to his sister, who followed the direction of his pointing finger. "They're
just like your Fluffy."

"Yes," agreed Kitty, "so they are. But their coats are not so well kept
as Fluffy's is now. I suppose you haven't time to comb them?" she
questioned of Mr. Dottin.

"They're Angoras," he remarked. "No, missie, I haven't time to comb

them. Have you a fancy for rabbits?"

"I love them," the little girl declared. "Not to eat, I don't mean that, but
as pets, you know. I've a sweet little white rabbit called Fluffy, and it's
exactly like those of yours."

"What we want to know is whether you sold a young Angora rabbit to

a boy called Tim Shuttleworth," broke in Bob, coming abruptly to the
real business of their visit.

"Tim Shuttleworth?" repeated Mr. Dottin. "I never, as far as I can

remember, heard that name before!"

"You might not know the name, but you might know the boy," said
Bob eagerly. "A boy about my height, but thinner, and about my age,
with red hair, a turn up nose, a wide mouth, and a freckled face."
"A very plain boy, perhaps you'd call him ugly," supplemented Kitty.

A gleam of comprehension flitted across the old man's countenance,

but it passed instantly, and his answer was evasive and
disappointing. "I have several customers answering to the
description you have given me of—your friend, is he?" he said,
gravely. "Plain people are more plentiful than handsome ones, you
know. When folks do business with me I don't take much notice of
their looks. Why are you so anxious to discover if this Tim
Shuttleworth has purchased a rabbit from me? Come now, tell me
that."

The children were quite willing to do so, and Kitty commenced a

rambling account of all that had led to their visit, beginning with the
sudden demise of her first rabbit, and going on to explain the
mysterious advent of Fluffy; but before she had brought her story to
an end, the shop door opened and a customer came in with a
request to be supplied with a particular mixture of bird seed, for
which Mr. Dottin was, as a ticket in the window informed passers-by,
the agent. Neither Kitty nor Bob noticed that Snip entered close on
the heels of the customer, and the little dog, fearful that he would be
seen and summarily ejected, stole silently into a corner, and hid
behind a box.

All would have gone well if Snip had remained in his corner. But as
soon as the customer had gone and Mr. Dottin again turned his
attention to the children, Snip crept from behind the box, and sniffing
the ground as he went, with a puzzled expression on his sharp little
face, as though his sensitive nostrils had scented a smell he did not
understand, as indeed was the case, he stealthily passed into the
parlour beyond.

A few minutes later a series of barks—sharp and aggressive—broke

upon the ears of the trio in the shop; and Kitty, who was concluding
her tale, stopped suddenly, and exchanged a dismayed glance with
her brother.
"That's our dog," Bob explained to Mr. Dottin. "I know his voice. We
shut him out, but—"

The boy broke off. He was given no chance of finishing his sentence;
for at that instant the air was rent by a great disturbance—blood-
curdling yells, snaps, snarls, and guttural growls which sounded, as
Kitty afterwards declared, worse than the most awful dog-fight she
had ever heard. Then followed such piteous howls from Snip that the
little girl wrung her hands in terror, and Mr. Dottin, seizing a large
stick, rushed into the parlour in front of Bob, whose face was as
white as death.

"Oh, Snip! He's been caught by something!" shrieked the boy. "Oh!"
starting back. "How terrible! What a brute!"

"What is it? What is it?" cried Kitty, shocked beyond measure. "Oh,
Snip, poor Snip! He's being killed, Bob! I can see it by your face!"

CHAPTER XI.
KITTY ASKS FORGIVENESS OF TIM.

IT appeared ages to Kitty before the horrifying noise in the parlour

ceased; but, in reality, in about three minutes after old Jacob Dottin
and Bob had left her, the piercing yells stopped, and silence followed
save for the angry voice of the master of the establishment, who was
scolding and threatening in a tone which made her tremble, so harsh
was it.
"I'll break every bone in your body if you move from that corner, you
Bimbo—ill-conditioned beast that you are! I'll give you something you
won't forget easily!" Kitty heard him say; and then he proceeded,
evidently addressing Bob: "Take that mongrel of yours away at once,
do you hear, at once!"

"All right," Bob answered; and the next moment he appeared in the
shop, bearing Snip, who had been badly injured, in his arms, and
followed by the old man, who cautiously shut the parlour door behind
him.

"Oh, is he much hurt?" gasped Kitty, shocked at the sight of the

blood, which looked a great deal more than it really was, on Snip's
white coat.

"He's scratched and bitten, I believe," Bob returned in a voice which

trembled slightly; he was looking pale and frightened, as his sister
noticed. "I wonder you keep such a savage brute about the place,"
he remarked unwisely to Mr. Dottin. "He would have killed our dog if
you hadn't interfered and driven him off."

"Of course he would have, and he wouldn't have been to blame,

either," was the retort, sharply spoken. "What business had you to
bring your dog here, I should like to know? Take him away
immediately, or perhaps he'll be up to some fresh mischief. He got
what he deserved for interfering with Bimbo. Come, clear out, you
and your sister, too. I've wasted too much time on you already."

"But, Mr. Dottin—" Bob was beginning, when, much to his

amazement and indignation, he was seized roughly by the collar,
dragged to the door, and sent spinning into the street.

Seeing her brother thus forcibly ejected, Kitty did not linger to be
similarly treated, but hurriedly followed him, whereupon Mr. Dottin
shook his fist at his late visitors, and shut the door upon them.

"Come along, Kitty," said Bob, who was choking with rage. "Let us
get out of this. That's a horrible old man; I'm sorry we went to see
him." And he started homewards at a great rate, still carrying Snip.

"Don't go quite so fast," pleaded Kitty, when they were out of sight of
the shop. "My foot's beginning to pain me. Poor Snip, dear old boy,"
she continued caressingly, as her brother slackened speed, and she
stroked the little dog's head. "His ears are torn, Bob, and he has a
bad bite in the neck. Was it a big dog he was fighting with?"

"It wasn't a dog at all," Bob answered. "It was an awful brute of a
monkey, which, I suppose Snip was foolish enough to interfere with."

"A monkey!" exclaimed Kitty in astonishment.

"Yes, a monkey nearly as big as you," her brother declared,

exaggerating without any intention of doing so, for to his frightened
gaze Bimbo had seemed of huge dimensions.

"Oh!" Kitty cried, immeasurably horrified. "What an escape Snip has

had! Don't you think he might walk, Bob, or are his legs hurt?"

"We'll see," Bob, replied, setting the little dog down upon the ground,
and patting him encouragingly.

Snip gave himself a shake. Evidently no bones were broken and his
injuries were superficial, for when his mistress and master moved on
he followed them, looking a most dejected object, with his tail tucked
tightly between his legs, and his whole bearing spiritless and
crestfallen. Kitty's foot, by this time, was growing extremely painful,
and she limped as she walked, so that when home was reached she
was not far from tears.

"We shall have to tell where we've been," she said, sighing, as she
followed her brother into the house. "And we've done no good—I
mean, we haven't found out what we wanted to know."

"We'll tackle Tim himself on Saturday about the rabbit," her brother
replied. "We'll ask him point blank if it was his present; but it would
have been a joke if we could have found out where it came from
ourselves. I suspect old Dottin could have told us something about it
if he had liked. It was most unfortunate that Snip behaved as he did.
My, wasn't there a row!"

The children found their parents had not returned, so they went into
the kitchen and explained what had happened to cook and Mary.
Mary procured warm water and a sponge, and bathed Snip's injured
ears, and bound up the wound in his neck. When the kind-hearted
girl had finished her ministrations, the little dog crept into the box
where he always slept under the kitchen table, and curled himself up
to rest.

"I expect he feels done up, poor thing," said cook. "I'll be bound to
say he'll think twice before he attacks a monkey again."

"Miss Kitty is done up, too," observed Mary. "You'd best have your
supper and go to bed, miss; you oughtn't to have walked so far with
that weak foot of yours."

The little girl took Mary's advice, and left her brother to relate their
evening's adventures to Mr. and Mrs. Glanville, who expressed their
opinion that they all ought to be thankful that poor Snip was not more
seriously hurt.

"The monkey might indeed have killed him," Mr. Glanville said, "and I
am not surprised that old Dottin was angry with you for taking the
dog in his shop. No doubt he is as much attached to his monkey as
you are to Snip. By the way, I suppose the monkey was not injured?"

"Not in the least, father," Bob replied. "Snip got much the worst of the
battle."

"I think you should have told us at tea-time where you intended
going this evening," Mrs. Glanville remarked. "The walk was too long
for Kitty. If you really suspect that Tim Shuttleworth purchased the
rabbit from old Dottin, ask the boy himself and no doubt he will tell
you."
"That is what we mean to do, mother; but please don't you or father
speak to him about it. Let us do it ourselves."

Mr. and Mrs. Glanville promised they would not interfere in the
matter; and though Tim accompanied Mr. Glanville for a walk on the
following morning, and exclaimed at the sight of Snip with his torn
ears and bandaged neck, he was merely told that the dog had been
fighting, and that he must ask Kitty and Bob to tell him all about it.
That same day, in the evening, he found an opportunity of doing so,
when, having learnt their lessons, the sister and brother strolled out
into the back garden as usual.

"Hulloa, Kitty, you're quite lame again," called out Tim, who, mounted
on the ladder, was looking over the partition wall. "How is that?"

"Because I walked too far last night," answered Kitty. Then she
whispered to her brother, "Let us find out what we want to know now,
instead of waiting till Saturday."

"All right," agreed Bob promptly.

"It was last night Snip got so badly mauled, wasn't it?" questioned
Tim. "He must have had an awful fight. How did it happen? Was it a
big dog he fought with? I suppose it must have been."

"No," Bob replied. "It was old Dottin's monkey—Bimbo."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tim. "I've seen that monkey, but I thought it was
very quiet. What made you go to see old Dottin without me? Don't
you remember I promised to take you?" There was a tinge of
reproach in his tone, and an expression of anxiety had crept into his
eyes.

"Yes," assented Kitty, "but we went on private business and wished

to go alone."

Tim looked snubbed, and his colour rose. He made a movement to

descend the ladder; but on second thoughts, he decided to remain
where he was. Bob began to explain.

"The fact is, we've been very puzzled since the day of the athletic
sports, when Kitty found out that Tom Hatch never sent her the rabbit
he, had promised me he would give her," he said. "We didn't tell you
about it at the time, because—well, we thought we wouldn't. We've
been trying to find out where Fluffy really came from, and now we
think we know."

"Did you find out from Mr. Dottin?" asked Tim, confusedly.

"No, we didn't," Kitty replied. "But we guess that you got Fluffy from
Mr. Dottin for us. Did you, Tim?"

Tim nodded, his face growing redder still.

"Oh, how kind of you!" cried Kitty, earnestly. "Thank you ever so
much—"

"But why did you make such a mystery about it?" Bob burst in
excitedly. "Why did you put the rabbit in the hutch after dark?"

"So that you should both be surprised, and wonder whose present it
was," Tim answered. "And when I found out you weren't very
surprised—that you believed Torn Hatch had sent the rabbit—I didn't
like to own up, for fear you wouldn't believe me."

"Of course we should have believed you," declared Bob. "We should
have known you wouldn't tell a lie."

Tim winced on hearing this, remembering the deliberate untruth he

had once told Kitty. The little girl was regarding him with wondering
blue eyes.

"I shall never be able to thank you properly," she said gravely. "You
are the kindest boy I ever knew, and I haven't deserved that you
should be kind to me—indeed I haven't. Bob knows that don't you,
Bob? I ought to tell you, Tim, that, until quite lately, I believed you