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 was coming unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed him.
Spring came and they had long days in the garden, for wherever
the Boy went, the Rabbit went too. He had rides in the wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely
fairy huts built for him under the raspberry canes behind the flower border. And once, when Boy was called away
suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until until long after dusk, and Nana had to come
look for him with the candle because the Boy wouldn't go to sleep unless he was there. He was wet through with the dew
and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in the flower bed, and Nana grumbled as she
rubbed him off with the corner of her apron.
"You must have your old Bunny!" she said, "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!"
The boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands.
"Give me my bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn't a toy. He's REAL!"
When the little rabbit heard that, he was happy, for he now knew that what the Skin Horse
had said was true at last. The nursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The boy himself had said it.
That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so much love stirred in his little sawdust
heart that it almost burst. And into his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that
even Nana noticed it next morning when she picked him up, and said, "I declare if that old Bunny hasn't got quite a knowing expression!"
That was a wonderful summer!
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