The Velveteen Rabbit

Part One · The Nursery

There was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really splendid, with a round, plump body, brown and white spots, whiskers of real thread and ears lined with pink. On Christmas morning he sat wedged in the top of the Boy's stocking with a sprig of holly between his paws, and he was the finest thing among the nuts and oranges and the toy engine. For two whole hours the Boy loved him. Then the aunts and uncles came to dinner, the room filled with rustling paper and new presents, and the little Rabbit was forgotten.

After that he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor, and nobody thought much about him. He was shy, and because he was made of nothing grander than velveteen, some of the costly toys snubbed him. The wind-up toys were the proudest of all, for they clicked and whirred and boasted about their springs, and every one of them pretended to be Real. The Rabbit did not know that real rabbits existed. He thought they were all stuffed with sawdust like himself, and he was certain that it would be bad manners to mention it.

The only toy who was kind to him was the Skin Horse, who had lived in the nursery longer than anybody. His coat was bald in patches, so that the seams showed through, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string beads. He was wise, because he had watched many grand new toys arrive to swagger, and then break their springs and be carried away. He knew they were only toys and would never become anything else, for the magic of the nursery is a strange thing that only an old toy can understand.

One evening the two of them were lying side by side near the fireplace, before Nana came to tidy the room. "What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit. "Does it mean having a buzzing inside you and a handle that sticks out?" "Being Real has nothing to do with how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It is something that happens to you, slowly. A child has to love you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but truly to love you. Then one day you find that you are Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. "Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, because he always told the truth. "But when you are Real, you do not mind." "Does it come all at once, like being wound up?" "No, it takes a long time, which is why it seldom happens to toys that break easily, or have sharp edges, or must be kept neat. By the time you are Real, most of your fur has been loved off, and your joints are wobbly. None of that matters, because a Real toy is never ugly, except to people who do not understand."

"And are you Real?" asked the Rabbit, and then he wished he had not, in case the old horse minded. But the Skin Horse only smiled. "The Boy's uncle made me Real, a great many years ago," he said. "Once you are Real, you can never be unreal again. It lasts for always." The Rabbit sighed. He longed to be Real, but he did not like the thought of losing his whiskers and growing shabby, and he wished that he could become Real without any of the wearing out.

Part Two · The Boy's Bunny

One night the Boy could not find the china dog that always slept with him, and Nana, who was in a hurry, snatched the Rabbit from the cupboard by one ear and tucked him into the Boy's arms. "Here, take your old Bunny," she said. "He will do." From then on the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first it was uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him tight and rolled on him and pushed him far under the pillow, but soon the Rabbit loved it.

The Boy made tunnels for him under the blankets and called them burrows, and when Nana had gone to her supper they played splendid games together in whispers. So the little Rabbit was very happy, and he never noticed how shabby he was growing, with his tail coming unsewn and the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boy had kissed it. When spring came they spent long days in the garden, where he rode in the wheelbarrow, ate picnics on the grass, and slept in fairy huts under the raspberry canes.

One evening the Boy was called in suddenly, and the Rabbit was left on the lawn long after dark. Nana had to come out with a candle to find him, wet with dew and earthy from the burrows in the flower bed. "You must have your old Bunny!" she grumbled, rubbing him dry with her apron. "Fancy all that fuss for a toy!" The Boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands. "Give me my Bunny," he said. "He is not a toy. He is REAL!"

When the Rabbit heard that, he was glad all the way through, for what the Skin Horse had told him was true at last. The nursery magic had happened, and the Boy himself had said so. That night so much love swelled in his sawdust heart that he could hardly sleep. He did not mind any more that his fur was thin or that his tail hung loose, and by morning his shiny button eyes had a wise and gentle look.

Part Three · The Wild Rabbits

That summer the Boy often took him to a wood near the house, and before he wandered off to pick flowers he made the Rabbit a cosy nest in the bracken. One evening, while the Rabbit lay watching ants run over his paws, two strange creatures crept out of the ferns. They were rabbits like him, but furry and brand-new, with no seams showing, and they changed shape as they moved, long and thin one moment and round and plump the next. The Rabbit searched for the clockwork that made them jump, but he could not find any.

"Come and play with us," said one of them. "I do not feel like it," said the Rabbit, for he did not want to say that he had no clockwork. The wild rabbit hopped sideways and stood on his hind legs. "Can you do this?" he asked. That was a dreadful question, because the Velveteen Rabbit had no hind legs at all. His back was made all in one piece, like a pincushion. But wild rabbits have sharp eyes, and this one laughed and sniffed. "He does not smell right," he said. "He is not a rabbit at all!"

"I am Real!" cried the little Rabbit, and he nearly began to cry. "The Boy said so!" Just then footsteps sounded, the Boy ran past, and the two wild rabbits vanished with a flash of white tails. "Come back!" called the Rabbit. "Oh, please come back! I know I am Real!" But nobody answered. Only the ants hurried to and fro, and the bracken swayed where the strangers had gone. After a long while, when the sun sank low and the pale moths came out, the Boy came and carried him home.

Part Four · The Sack

Weeks went by, and the Rabbit grew shabbier, but the Boy loved him just as much. He had loved off all the whiskers, and the pink in the Rabbit's ears had turned grey. He hardly looked like a rabbit at all any more, except to the Boy, and to the Boy he was always beautiful. Then, one day, the Boy fell ill. For many days he lay hot and sleepy in bed, while strange people came and went and a light burned all night. The Rabbit stayed hidden close beside him, because he knew the Boy needed him.

At last the fever turned, and the Boy grew well. The doctor said he should go to the seaside to get strong. His room had to be scrubbed, and the toys and books he had played with in bed would have to go. When Nana held up the old Bunny, the doctor shook his head. "He must stay behind," he said. "Get the Boy a new one." So the Rabbit was put in a sack with the old picture books and carried to the end of the garden, behind the hen house, to wait for the gardener.

That night the Boy slept in another room, with a brand-new bunny, but his thoughts were all of the sea. The Rabbit lay in the sack feeling very lonely. His coat was so thin that it no longer kept him warm, and by wriggling he could put his head out and see the raspberry canes where they had played. He thought of the fairy huts, and the evenings in the wood, and the wise old Skin Horse.

Part Five · The Fairy Flower

What was the use of being loved and becoming Real, he wondered, if it all ended like this? And a tear, a real tear, ran down his shabby nose and fell to the ground. Where it fell, a flower grew. It was not like any flower in the garden, for it had leaves as green as emeralds and a golden blossom shaped like a cup. It was so lovely that the Rabbit forgot to cry, and as he watched, the blossom opened and out of it stepped a fairy.

She was the loveliest fairy in the world, with a dress of pearl and dewdrops and flowers in her hair. She picked up the little Rabbit and kissed his damp nose. "Little Rabbit," she said, "do you not know who I am? I am the Nursery Magic Fairy. I take care of all the toys that children have loved. When they are old and worn out, I come and make them Real."

"Was I not Real already?" asked the Rabbit. "You were Real to the Boy, because he loved you," said the Fairy. "Now you shall be Real to everyone." She held him close and flew with him into the wood, where the moon had risen and the bracken shone like silver. The wild rabbits stopped dancing to stare at her. "I have brought you a new friend," she said. "Be kind to him, and teach him all he needs to know."

She kissed him once more and set him down. "Run and play, little Rabbit!" But the Rabbit sat quite still, remembering his hind legs. Then his nose began to tickle, and without thinking he lifted his hind foot to scratch it. He had hind legs! His fur was brown and soft, his ears twitched by themselves, and with one great leap he was dancing with the others. When he looked around for the Fairy she was gone, and he was a Real Rabbit at last.

Autumn passed, and winter, and in the spring the Boy went out to play in the wood. Two rabbits crept out of the ferns to peep at him. One was brown all over. The other had faint markings in his fur, as if long ago he had been spotted, and his soft nose and dark eyes looked familiar. "Why," thought the Boy, "he looks just like my old Bunny, the one I lost when I was ill." But he never knew that it was his own Bunny, come back to see the child who had helped him become Real.