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!"