"We used to see them in the country on the path in front of the house,
and the light from the west made their ears look like tiny electric
bulbs."
Margaret-Mary entranced by one small bunny with a splash of white for a
cotton tail, sang, "Pitty sing, pitty sing."
"They don't weally lay eggs, do they?" Teddy ventured.
"I wouldn't ask such questions if I were you, Teddy."
"Why not?"
"Because you might find out that they didn't lay eggs, and then you'd
feel terribly disappointed."
"Well, isn't it better to know?"
Jean shook her head. "I'm not sure--it's nice to think that they do
lay eggs--blue ones and red ones and those lovely purple ones, isn't
it?"
"Yes."
"And if they don't lay them, who does?"
"Hens," said Teddy, rather unexpectedly, "and the rab-yits steal them."
"Who told you that?"
"Hodgson. And she says that she ties them up in rags and the colors
come off on the eggs."
"Well, I wouldn't listen to Hodgson."
"Why not? I like to listen."
"Because she hasn't any imagination."
"What's 'magination?"
They were getting in very deep. Jean gave it up. "Ask your mother,
Teddy.
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