Because he’s a good one…

Victoria dropped her heavy suitcases onto the hallway floor.

“Hooray!!! Mummy’s home!!!” the girls squealed, rushing out of the nursery to greet her.

Vicky smiled. At last, she was home! Four long months of training courses were behind her—the dingy dormitory, the endless exams… She wrapped her daughters in a tight hug, pressing kisses to their heads. Of course, she hadn’t come empty-handed.

“Lizzie, this is for you!” Mum pulled out a beautiful, fluffy jumper for her eldest. With a delighted shriek, fashion-loving Lizzie dashed off to her room—only to skid back moments later, throwing her arms around her mother in a sheepish hug.

“Thanks, Mummy!!! I’ve wanted one like this forever!” And off she zoomed again.

“Sophie, this one’s yours!” Vicky rummaged in her suitcase and pulled out something soft and white-and-blue, a puzzling little bundle.

Grandma Rose raised her eyebrows. What on earth was this strange thing now clutched in her youngest granddaughter’s tiny hands? A toy, perhaps?

Staring back at Sophie was a lop-eared rabbit. Its head was hard, made of papier-mâché, while its belly and paws were plush, stuffed with sawdust. Dressed in a little blue smock, its short synthetic fur was snowy white.

Not so bad, really. Except…

It was the ugliest toy imaginable. Its lopsided eyes—different sizes, mismatched heights—gave it a drunken look. Its hooked nose tilted stubbornly to one side, and its thin lips were frozen in a crooked, apologetic smile, as though begging forgiveness for being so hideous.

“Blimey!” Lizzie exclaimed, admiring her new jumper. “Mum, what *is* that monstrosity?”

“Darling…” Grandma Rose sighed. “Was there truly nothing worse in all of London? You might as well use it to scare crows off the fields!”

At her grandmother’s words, little Sophie flinched, hugged the rabbit tighter, and fled to the nursery.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mum,” Vicky said. “But Hamleys was packed—shelves groaning with toys. And there he sat, all alone on the bottom shelf… I felt sorry for him. And—I swear—he looked grateful when I picked him up. Like he whispered, *Thank you.*”

Grandma shook her head in disbelief, waving her off. Her grown daughter, a top consultant, was still a child at heart—her own post-war childhood hadn’t exactly spoiled her with toys.

That ugly rabbit, made in some far-off factory, became Sophie’s treasure. She christened him with a solemn name—Percival. The way she rolled the *r’s* with a posh lisp only made him seem sillier.

By day, Percy waited patiently for Sophie to come home from school. By night, he listened to her whispered stories and gossip about her friends. She’d fall asleep with his scruffy face pressed to her cheek.

Years flew by.

Countless washes turned Percy’s white fur yellowish—sawdust bled through—and his blue smock faded to a pale wash. He looked downright ghastly, but Sophie loved him all the more for it, doting on him like a wounded soldier.

At seventeen, Sophie became an aunt when Lizzie had a son, Alfie. The moment the boy could grasp things, that hideous rabbit became his idol. Alfie would whisper sweet nonsense to Percy at bedtime, and the rabbit smiled back, just as he had for Sophie.

Alfie only parted with Percy once—grudgingly handing him over to his wailing cousin, little Freddie. Tears of resentment turned to joy when Freddie toddled home, clutching the rabbit to his chest. Percy had a new tiny confidant.

No one batted an eye when Freddie, without hesitation, gave Percy to a sobbing stranger—a little girl in the playground. He even whispered something into the rabbit’s ear first. The girl blinked at Freddie in surprise but took the offering.

And that, you’d think, would be that. Percy had left the family, entrusted to a new owner. But…

Hard to say how many years passed after Freddie’s kindness. Just recently, white-haired Victoria visited an old school friend, Edith, now just as silver-haired as she was. The two ladies chatted merrily, reminiscing—until, out of nowhere, Vicky told the tale of the ugly rabbit.

“You don’t mean *this*, do you?” Edith asked, pulling something shapeless and faded from behind her.

“Percy!…” Vicky gasped.

“Well, whether he’s Percy or Peregrine, I’ve been trying to bin this eyesore for years! Great-granddaughter Lily won’t let me. Some kid gave it to her in the park when she scraped her knee and cried…”

Vicky cradled the toy, lost in thought. She remembered a summer long ago, Sophie’s thin arms squeezing that ugly rabbit tight… and she smiled.