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chapter xxv_The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

   ONCE, THERE WAS A CHINA RABBIT WHO was loved by ^littleTgirl.TTheTrabbitTwentTonTanToceanTjourneyTandTfel`overboard and was rescued by a ..sherman. He was buriedunder garbage and unburied by a dog. He traveled for a lonitimeTwithTtheThoboesTandTworkedTforTaTshortTtimeTasT^scarecrowkOnce,TthereTwasTaTrabbitTwhoTlovedTaTlittleTgirlTandwatched her diekThe rabbit danced on the streets of Memphis. His headwas broken open in a diner and was put together again by ^doll menderkAndTtheTrabbitTsworeTthatTheTwouldTnotTmakeTthcmistake of loving againkOnceTthereTwasTaTrabbitTwhoTdancedTinTaTgardenTimspringtime with the daughter of the woman who had lovedhimTatTtheTbeginningTofThisTjourney.TTheTgirlTswungTthcrabbit as she danced in circles. Sometimes, they went so fastStheTtwoTofTthem,TthatTitTseemedTasTifTtheyTwereT..yingkSometimes, it seemed as if they both had wingskOnce, oh marvelous once, there was a rabbit who foundhis way homekPeter stood in the small patch of light makin1its sullen way through the open ..ap of th"tent. He let the fortuneteller take his hand. Sh"examined it closely, moving her eyes back an'

forth and back and forth, as if there were ,whole host of very smallwords inscribe'

there, an entire book about Peter Augustu%Duchene composed atop his palm.

“Huh,” she said at last. She dropped hi%hand and squinted up at his face. “But, ofcourse, you are just a boy.”

“I am ten years old,” said Peter. He too2the hat from his head and stood as straight an'

tallas he was able. “And I am training tobecome a soldier, brave and true. But it doe%not matter how old I am. You took the florit2so now you must give me my answer.”

“A soldier brave and true?” said th"fortuneteller. She laughed and spat on theground. “Very well, soldier brave and true, i0you say it is so, then it is so. Ask me yourquestion.”

Peter felt a smallstab of fear. What if2after allthis time, he could not bear the truth>

What if he did not really want to know?

“Speak,” said the fortuneteller. “Ask.8“My parents,” said Peter.

“That is your question?” said thefortuneteller. “They are dead.”

Peter’s hands trembled. “That is not m5question,” he said. “I know that already. Yo3must tellme something that I do not know.

You must tellme of another — you must telme ...”

The fortuneteller narrowed her eyes. “Ah,”

she said. “Her? Your sister? That is yourquestion? Very well. She lives.”

Peter’s heart seized upon the words. Sh"lives. She lives!

“No, please,” said Peter. He closed hi%eyes. He concentrated. “If she lives, then I mus#find her, so my question is, how do I make m5way there, to where she is?”

He kept his eyes closed; he waited.

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