There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was a light lavender, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears were fluffy and soft.
On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of a little girl's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, the effect was charming.
There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit was quite the best of all.
For at least two hours the girl loved him, playing all kinds of games with him.
Charlie, the child, adored her new toy; giving him the name of Theodore.
Her father often made her new toys, often mechanical, however the little rabbit was not robotic.
Only a small voice box was placed inside of him, and when pressed uttered the words 'I love you, Charlie.' in her father's voice.
His yellow eyes were filled with joy as the child found joy in him, and he found joy in her.
Later that day, Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten.
For a long time he lived in the closet, and no one thought very much about him.
He was naturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite snubbed him.
The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real.
There was a parrot, who had lived through two seasons and lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms.
The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentioned in modern circles.
Even Ella, a little doll, who was made not too long ago by Henry, Charlies father, could be rather snide at times; holding her teacup and plate smugly and bragging about her mechanical insides.
Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who was kind to him at all was Stanley the unicorn.
Stanley had lived longer in Charlie's room than any of the others. He was so old that his white coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had fallen out over the years.
It was true, he was mechanical, and even had his own track to run around on; but he wasn't smug like some of the other mechanical toys.
He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else.
For the love of a child is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like Stanley could understand all about it.
"What is REAL?" asked Theodore one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Henry came to tidy the room.
"Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"
"Real isn't how you are made," replied Stanley.
"It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."
"Does it hurt?" Theodore asked rather innocently, tilting his head sideways.
"Sometimes," said the unicorn, for he was always truthful.
"When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"It doesn't happen all at once," said the unicorn, tipping his head up happily and smiling.
"It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."
"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the old unicorn might be sensitive. But the unicorn only smiled.
"Charlie's father made me Real," he said. "That was a great many years ago; his attachment to me was so strong when he was creating me; but once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."
The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time before this magic called Real happened to him. He longed to become Real, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growing shabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. He wished that he could become it without these uncomfortable things happening to him.
There was a woman, who's name seemed to escape their minds; but she was the mother of Charlie. Sometimes she took no notice of the playthings lying about, and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went swooping about like a great wind and hustled them away in closets or chests. She called this "tidying up," and the playthings all hated it, especially the tin ones. Theodore didn't mind it so much, for wherever he was thrown he came down soft.
One evening, when Charlie was going to bed, he couldn't find the yellow bear that always slept with her. Her mother was in a hurry, and it was too much trouble to hunt for yellow bears at bedtime, so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toy chest lid stood open, she made a swoop.
"Here," she said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep with you!" And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put him into the girl's arms.
Theodore's non-existent heart sank with joy as he was held in Charlie's arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, he swore saw Stanley smiling from the closet.
That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the girl's bed.
At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the girl hugged him very tight, and sometimes she rolled over on him, and sometimes she pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours in the room, when all the house was silent, and his talks with Stanley the unicorn. But very soon he grew to like it, for the girl used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when her mother had gone away to her supper and left the night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the girl dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under her little warm chin and dream, with the girl's hands clasped close round him all night long.
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 becoming unsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the girl had kissed him.
Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, for wherever Charlie 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 the girl was called away suddenly to go out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until long after dusk, and Charlie's mother had to come and look for him with the candle because the girl couldn't go to sleep unless he was there.
He was wet through with the dew and quite earthy from diving into the burrows the girl had made for him in the flower bed, and Charlie's mother grumbled as she rubbed him off with a corner of her apron.
Spring Time
One day Charlie's mother thought that Charlie spent a little too much time playing with Theodore, so when the child wasn't looking she attempted to take the toy from her.
She didn't think it healthy to be so involved in an object, but when the little girl saw her mother taking the toy she screamed and tried to retrieve it from her mother's grasp.
"You must have your old Bunny!" Charlie's mother hissed, "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!"
Charlie cried and whined, stretching out her hands.
"Give me Theodore!" she 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 knew that what the Stanley had said was true at last.
The magic of a child's love had happened to him, and he was a toy no longer. He was Real. The girl herself 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 old yellow eyes, that had long ago lost their polish, there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Charlie's mother 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!
Near the house where they lived there was a wood, and in the long June evenings the girl liked to go there after tea to play.
She took the Velveteen Rabbit with her, and before she wandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among the trees, she always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhere among the bracken, where he would be quite cozy, for she was a kind-hearted little girl and she liked Theodore to be comfortable.
One evening, while the Rabbit was lying there alone, watching the ants that ran to and fro between his velvet paws in the grass, he saw two strange beings creep out of the tall bracken near him.
They were rabbits like himself, but quite furry and brand-new. They must have been very well made, for their seams didn't show at all, and they changed shape in a queer way when they moved; one minute they were long and thin and the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always staying the same like he did.
Their feet padded softly on the ground, and they crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, while Theodore stared hard to see which side the clockwork stuck out, for he knew that people who jump generally have something to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They were evidently a new kind of rabbit altogether.
They stared at him, and the gray plush rabbit stared back. And all the time their noses twitched.
"Why don't you get up and play with us?" one of them asked.
"I don't feel like it," said Theodore, for he didn't want to explain that he had no clockwork.
"Ho!" said the furry rabbit. "It's as easy as anything," And he gave a big hop sideways and stood on his hind legs.
"I don't believe you can!" The other said, looking rather sadly at the rabbit, which he didn't seem to realize was no more than a mere toy.
"I can!" Theodore exclaimed, a bit of hurt in his voice.
"I can jump higher than anything!" He meant when Charlie threw him, but of course he didn't want to say so.
"Can you hop on your hind legs?" asked one of the furry rabbits.
That was a dreadful question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped that the other rabbits wouldn't notice.
"I don't want to!" he said again.
But the wild rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this one stretched out his neck and looked.
"He hasn't got any hind legs!" he called out. "Fancy a rabbit without any hind legs!" And he began to laugh.
"I have!" cried Theodore. "I have got hind legs! I am sitting on them!"
"Then stretch them out and show me, like this!" said the wild rabbit. And he began to whirl around and dance, until little Theodore got quite dizzy.
"I don't like dancing," he said. "I'd rather sit still!"
But all the while he was longing to dance, for a funny new tickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would give anything in the world to be able to jump about like these rabbits did.
The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. He came so close this time that his long whiskers brushed Theodore's ear, and then he wrinkled his nose suddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.
"He doesn't smell right!" he exclaimed. "He isn't a rabbit at all! He isn't real!"
"I am Real!" Whined Theodore, feeling his little sawdust heart sink.
"I am Real! Charlie said so!" And he nearly began to cry.
Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and Charlie ran past near them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tails the two strange rabbits disappeared.
"Come back and play with me!" called Theodore. "Oh, do come back! I know I am Real!"
But there was no answer, only the little ants ran to and fro, and the bracken swayed gently where the two strangers had passed. Then Theodore was all alone..
"Oh, dear!" he thought. "Why did they run away like that? Why couldn't they stop and talk to me?"
For a long time he lay very still, watching the bracken, and hoping that they would come back. But they never returned, and presently the sun sank lower and the little white moths fluttered out, and Charlie came and carried him home
Weeks passed, and the little purple rabbit grew very old and shabby, but Charlie loved him just as much.
She loved him so hard that she loved all his whiskers off, and the purple lining to his ears turned grey, and his bright eyes faded.
He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more, except to Charlie.
To her he was always beautiful, and that was all that Theodore cared about.
He didn't mind how he looked to other people, because the love of Charlie had made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn't matter.
And then, one day, Charlie was ill.
Her face grew very flushed, and she talked in her sleep, and her little body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when she held him close.
Strange people came and went in Charlie's room, and a light burned all night and through it all Theodore lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, and he never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him some one might take him away, and he knew that Charlie needed him.
It was a long weary time, for Charlie was too ill to play, and the little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all day long.
But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward to the time when Charlie should be well again, and they would go out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterflies and play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like they used to.
All sorts of delightful things he planned, and while Charlie lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow and whispered to them in her ear.
And presently the fever turned, and Charlie got better.
She was able to sit up in bed and look at picture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at her side. And one day, they let her get up and dress.
It was a bright, sunny morning, and the windows stood wide open. They had carried Charlie out on to the balcony, wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled up among the bedclothes, thinking.
Charlie was going to the seaside to-morrow.
Everything was arranged, and now it only remained to carry out the doctor's orders.
They talked about it all, while the little Rabbit lay under the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, and listened.
The room was to be disinfected, and all the books and toys that Charlie had played with in bed must be burnt.
"Hurrah!" thought the little Rabbit. "To-morrow we shall go to the seaside!" For Charlie had often talked of the seaside, and he wanted very much to see the big waves coming in, and the tiny crabs, and the sand castles.
Just then Charlie's mother caught sight of him.
"How about her old Bunny?" she asked.
"That?" said the doctor. "Why, it's a mass of scarlet fever germs!–Burn it at once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one. He mustn't have that any more!"
And so the little Rabbit was put into a sack with the old picture-books and a lot of rubbish, and carried out to the end of the garden behind the fowl-house.
That was a fine place to make a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then to attend to it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas to gather, but next morning he promised to come quite early and burn the whole lot.
That night Charlie slept in a different bedroom, and she had a new bunny to sleep with her.
It was a splendid bunny, all yellow plush with real glass eyes, but Charlie was too excited to care very much about it.
For to-morrows he was going to the seaside, and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that she could think of nothing else.
And while Charlie was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, the little Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the corner behind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely.
The sack had been left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to get his head through the opening and look out.
He was shivering a little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a proper bed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbare from hugging that it was no longer any protection to him.
Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growing tall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he had played with Charlie on bygone mornings.
He thought of those long sunlit hours in the garden–how happy they were–and a great sadness came over him.
He seemed to see them all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other, the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in the wood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran over his paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he was Real.
He thought of Stanley, so wise and gentle, and all that he had told him.
Of what use was it to be loved and lose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby nose and fell to the ground.
And then a strange thing happened.
For where the tear had fallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower, not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender green leaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves a blossom like a golden cup.
It was so beautiful that the little Rabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped a puppet.
He was quite the loveliest puppet in the whole world.
His body was encased in a black outfit, white stripes covering the arms and legs; while three giant buttons went down his chest.
On each cheek there was a circle of red blush, and down his face was two purple streaks leading from his eyes.
His eyes were pitch black, save two white pupils staring down at the toy.
And he came close to Theodore and gathered him up in his arms and kissed him on his velveteen nose that was all damp from crying.
"Little Rabbit," he said, "don't you know who I am?"
The Rabbit looked up at him, and it seemed to him that he had seen his face before, but he couldn't think where.
"I am the Guardian of toys.." he said. "I take care of all the playthings that the children have loved. When they are old and worn out and the children don't need them any more, then I come and take them away with me and turn them into Real."
"Wasn't I Real before?" asked the little Rabbit.
"You were Real to Charlie," the puppet said, "because she loved you. Now you shall be Real to every one."
And he held the little Rabbit close in his arms and flew with him into the wood.
It was light now, for the moon had risen.
All the forest was beautiful, and the fronds of the bracken shone like frosted silver.
In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wild rabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, but when they saw the puppet they all stopped dancing and stood round in a ring to stare at him.
"I've brought you a new playfellow," the Puppet said. "You must be very kind to him and teach him all he needs to know in Rabbit-land, for he is going to live with you for ever and ever!"
And he kissed the little Rabbit again and put him down on the grass.
"Run and play, little Rabbit!" he said.
But the little Rabbit sat quite still for a moment and never moved.
For when he saw all the wild rabbits dancing around him he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and he didn't want them to see that he was made all in one piece.
He did not know that when the Puppet kissed him that last time he had changed him altogether. And he might have sat there a long time, too shy to move, if just then something hadn't tickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing he lifted his hind toe to scratch it.
And he found that he actually had hind legs! Instead of dingy velveteen he had grey fur, soft and shiny, his ears twitched by themselves, and his whiskers were so long that they brushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using those hind legs was so great that he went springing about the turf on them, jumping sideways and whirling round as the others did, and he grew so excited that when at last he did stop to look for the Puppet he had gone.
He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits.
Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, Charlie went out to play in the wood behind the house.
And while she was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at her.
One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings and shades under his fur, as though long ago he had been purple, and the faint tint of purple still showed through.
And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that Charlie thought to herself:
"Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!"
But she never knew that it really was her own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.