Bumper was taken to the street corner with Fluffy, Dimples and Pickles. It was a cloudy day, and the old woman limped as she walked along with her basket on her arm. Damp weather always brought out her rheumatism, and sometimes made her very cross.

Dimples and Fluffy began playing they were on a ship in a storm, and when a drop of rain hit Pickles on the nose he squealed with delight, and joined them in the game. They scampered around so lively inside that the old woman stopped and opened the cover of the basket.

"Stop that!" she said quite angrily, "or I'll dump you all in the gutter!"

The threat was enough to send each to a corner of the basket, where they eyed each other and tried to think up some less boisterous game. It was beginning to rain steadily outside, and the water trickled through the top of the basket. Every time a drop hit one, he squealed, but no one dared to jump and run around.

Now rabbits don't sell very well on rainy days, especially white rabbits. Their fur gets all wet and roughened up, and they look more like half-drowned rats than pretty, fluffy bunnies. Fluffy was taken out of the basket first, but nobody took any notice of her, and when she came back she was all wet and shivery.

"B-r-r-r, it's awfully wet outside," she said, shaking with the cold. "I'm glad nobody bought me, for I'd rather be in here safe and warm than in somebody's arms."

Pickles's turn came next. He had an ingrowing toe nail, which sometimes made him grouchy and sour, so he was dubbed Pickles. He looked and acted like his name now. He squealed when the old woman picked him up in her hand, and when a splash of rain landed on the back of his neck he kicked both hind legs and wriggled his body free and fell plump back into the basket.

The old woman was very angry. "You, Pickles," she growled, "you'll go to bed to-night without any supper."

Somebody passed just then, a lady with an umbrella over her head, and the woman with rabbits to sell turned to her in her most beguiling way. "Rabbits, lady! Nice, pretty rabbits for sale!"

The lady stopped long enough to let her umbrella drip all over the basket, and then she asked: "Are they white rabbits? I don't want any other kind."

"Yes, ma'm, pure white bunnies, with pink eyes, and long, fluffy ears—the dearest and cutest little things you ever saw. Let me show you."

With that she made a grab in the basket. It was a blind-man's bluff grab, for she couldn't see one of the rabbits huddling in the corners. Bumper was the nearest, and her hand closed over him.

"That's the prettiest one I have, ma'm," she said. "He's my pet, an' I hate to sell him, but I need the money an' you can have him."

It was raining pitchforks outside, or something like that, and, for a moment, Bumper couldn't see anything but the big drops of water splashing in his eyes. Then the lady held the umbrella over his head, and he looked up into her face. She was a sweet, womanly lady, but not exactly the kind of mistress Bumper had pictured belonging to.

"He is a dear little thing," the lady said, taking him in her arms and rubbing his back. "And so friendly! Why, he's trying to cuddle up under my arm."

The fact was, Bumper was trying to get in her muff away from the dripping umbrella. He made a dive for the nearest open end, and squeezed all but his tail through.

"How cute of him! I believe I must take him. How much is he?"

Now Bumper's heart nearly stopped beating when he heard the lady ask this question, for had not his mother told him that he cost too much money for most people to buy? Did this lady have plenty of money, or did she put it all on her back and starve her stomach? She was beautifully dressed, and her cheeks were not very plump and fat—not a bit like those of the red-headed girl with a freckle on the end of her nose.

"Two dollars, ma'm, an' he's cheap at that! You don't find rabbits like him once in a year."

Bumper's hopes took a sudden drop. Two dollars! Why, Jimsy had been sold for one dollar, and Wheedles for seventy-five cents, while Topsy, who was old and fat, brought only fifty cents. My, two dollars was an awful lot of money!

"Two dollars!" repeated the lady, fumbling in her dress with one hand. Then, to Bumper's surprise and delight, she added: "I think I'll take him. I want him for my nephew. Toby's hard to suit, but I think he'll be pleased with a rabbit. What did you say you called him?"

"Bumper, ma'm!"

"That's a queer name, but I like it."

"It was because he was always bumping his nose when he was a tiny mite," the old woman explained, taking the two dollars from the lady. "His mother named him first, and then his brothers and sisters took it up, and, of course, I had to follow 'em. Rabbits don't like to be called by two different names, and if I was you, ma'm, I'd keep on calling him Bumper. He wouldn't know any other name."

"I will always call him Bumper, but"—sighing—"I'm afraid Toby will want to nickname him. He makes up the funniest names for all his pets."

"Tell him then Bumper will run away and never come back. Rabbits are more knowing than you think, ma'm."

"I always thought they were very cute and gentle, but very stupid," replied the lady. "But maybe I was wrong. Bumper doesn't look stupid."

"Lordy, ma'm! he ain't no more stupid than that Toby you speak of, whoever he may be."

"Well, Toby isn't stupid, whatever else you may say of him," smiled the lady. "He's bright enough, but he's sometimes very thoughtless, and I fear a little cruel."

"Cruel, ma'm!" And the old woman who sold rabbits for a living stiffened her bent form, and frowned. She stretched forth a hand as if to reclaim her Bumper, but the lady moved away with her purchase under her arm.

"Oh, I'll see that he isn't cruel to Bumper," she said.

While listening to all this conversation, Bumper experienced strange and unusual emotions. He had learned more about white rabbits in a few moments than his mother had ever taught him in all the days of his youth. They were considered stupid, were they?—but cute and gentle. Huh! He wasn't stupid! No, indeed! If the lady thought so he'd show her what a mistake she'd made.

Just to prove it, Bumper began to gnaw at the lining of the muff, and pretty soon got his whole body under it, and then he began to kick and wriggle to get out. He felt he was being smothered alive, and he squealed aloud. The lady finally rescued him, but not until she had torn away half the lining from her muff.

"Oh, you stupid little Bumper!" she said, reprovingly. "You mustn't do such things!"

Bumper felt so crestfallen at this rebuke that he remained perfectly quiet during the rest of the walk. He snuggled up into the crook of her arm, and peeped out once only when they reached a big house and began ascending the steps.

So this was to be his future home! What a big place it was! Why, hundreds and hundreds of white rabbits could live in that house and never lack for elbow room.

Just then, when Bumper began to feel a little proud about his future home, a great noise and clatter behind the door startled him, and it opened so suddenly that he nearly popped out of the lady's arms. And what happened to him behind that door of the big house might fill chapters and chapters, but it will all be told in the next story.