The Velveteen Rabbit

Or how Toys Become Real

by Margery Williams

Illustrations by William Nicholson

Electronically Developed by MobileReference

Margery Williams

HERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning hewas really splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit shouldbe; his coat was spotted brown and white, he had real threadwhiskers, and his ears were lined with pink sateen. OnChristmas morning, when he sat wedged in the top of theBoy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his paws, theeffect was charming.

There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges anda toy engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse,but the Rabbit was quite the best of all. For at least two hoursthe Boy loved him, and then Aunts and Uncles came todinner, and there was a great rustling of tissue paper andunwrapping of parcels, and in the excitement of looking at allthe new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was forgotten.

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Christmas Morning

For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nurseryfloor, and no one thought very much about him. He wasnaturally shy, and being only made of velveteen, some of themore expensive toys quite snubbed him. The mechanical toyswere very superior, and looked down upon every one else;they were full of modern ideas, and pretended they were real.The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and lostmost of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missedan opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms.The Rabbit could not claim to be a model of anything, for hedidn't know that real rabbits existed; he thought they were allstuffed with sawdust like himself, and he understood that

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sawdust was quite out-of-date and should never be mentionedin modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed wooden lion,who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have hadbroader views, put on airs and pretended he was connectedwith Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit wasmade to feel himself very insignificant and commonplace,and the only person who was kind to him at all was the SkinHorse.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any ofthe others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald inpatches and showed the seams underneath, and most of thehairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces.He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanicaltoys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break theirmainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were onlytoys, and would never turn into anything else. For nurserymagic is very strange and wonderful, and only thoseplaythings that are old and wise and experienced like the SkinHorse understand all about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they werelying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana cameto tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz insideyou and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's athing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long,long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, thenyou become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

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"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, 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 Skin Horse. "Youbecome. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happenoften to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or whohave to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real,most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop outand you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But thesethings don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can'tbe ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wishedhe had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might besensitive. But the Skin Horse only smiled.

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The Skin Horse Tells His Story

"The Boy's Uncle made me Real," he said. "That was a greatmany years ago; but once you are Real you can't becomeunreal again. It lasts for always."

The Rabbit sighed. He thought it would be a long time beforethis magic called Real happened to him. He longed to becomeReal, to know what it felt like; and yet the idea of growingshabby and losing his eyes and whiskers was rather sad. Hewished that he could become it without these uncomfortablethings happening to him.

There was a person called Nana who ruled the nursery.Sometimes she took no notice of the playthings lying about,and sometimes, for no reason whatever, she went swoopingabout like a great wind and hustled them away in cupboards.She called this "tidying up," and the playthings all hated it,especially the tin ones. The Rabbit didn't mind it so much, forwherever he was thrown he came down soft.

One evening, when the Boy was going to bed, he couldn't findthe china dog that always slept with him. Nana was in a hurry,and it was too much trouble to hunt for china dogs at bedtime,so she simply looked about her, and seeing that the toycupboard door stood open, she made a swoop.

"Here," she said, "take your old Bunny! He'll do to sleep withyou!" And she dragged the Rabbit out by one ear, and put himinto the Boy's arms.

That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbitslept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather

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uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, andsometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushedhim so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcelybreathe. And he missed, too, those long moonlight hours inthe nursery, when all the house was silent, and his talks withthe Skin Horse. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boyused to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under thebedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbitslived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers,when Nana had gone away to her supper and left thenight-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boydropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down closeunder his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's handsclasped close round him all night long.

And so time went on, and the little Rabbit was very happy-sohappy that he never noticed how his beautiful velveteen furwas getting shabbier and shabbier, and his tail becomingunsewn, and all the pink rubbed off his nose where the Boyhad kissed him.

Spring came, and they had long days in the garden, forwherever the Boy went the Rabbit went too. He had rides inthe wheelbarrow, and picnics on the grass, and lovely fairyhuts built for him under the raspberry canes behind the flowerborder. And once, when the Boy was called away suddenly togo out to tea, the Rabbit was left out on the lawn until longafter dusk, and Nana had to come and look for him with thecandle because the Boy couldn't go to sleep unless he wasthere. He was wet through with the dew and quite earthy fromdiving into the burrows the Boy had made for him in theflower bed, and Nana grumbled as she rubbed him off with acorner of her apron.

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Spring Time

"You must have your old Bunny!" she said. "Fancy all thatfuss for a toy!"

The Boy sat up in bed and stretched out his hands.

"Give me my Bunny!" he said. "You mustn't say that. He isn'ta toy. He's REAL!"

When the little Rabbit heard that he was happy, for he knewthat what the Skin Horse had said was true at last. Thenursery magic had happened to him, and he was a toy nolonger. He was Real. The Boy himself had said it.

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That night he was almost too happy to sleep, and so muchlove stirred in his little sawdust heart that it almost burst. Andinto his boot-button eyes, that had long ago lost their polish,there came a look of wisdom and beauty, so that even Nananoticed it next morning when she picked him up, and said, "Ideclare if that old Bunny hasn't got quite a knowingexpression!"

That was a wonderful Summer!

Near the house where they lived there was a wood, and in thelong June evenings the Boy liked to go there after tea to play.He took the Velveteen Rabbit with him, and before hewandered off to pick flowers, or play at brigands among thetrees, he always made the Rabbit a little nest somewhereamong the bracken, where he would be quite cosy, for he wasa kind-hearted little boy and he liked Bunny to becomfortable. One evening, while the Rabbit was lying therealone, watching the ants that ran to and fro between his velvetpaws in the grass, he saw two strange beings creep out of thetall bracken near him.

They were rabbits like himself, but quite furry andbrand-new. They must have been very well made, for theirseams didn't show at all, and they changed shape in a queerway when they moved; one minute they were long and thinand the next minute fat and bunchy, instead of always stayingthe same like he did. Their feet padded softly on the ground,and they crept quite close to him, twitching their noses, whilethe Rabbit stared hard to see which side the clockwork stuckout, for he knew that people who jump generally havesomething to wind them up. But he couldn't see it. They wereevidently a new kind of rabbit altogether.

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Summer Days

They stared at him, and the little Rabbit stared back. And allthe 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 the Rabbit, for he didn't want toexplain that he had no clockwork.

"Ho!" said the furry rabbit. "It's as easy as anything," And hegave a big hop sideways and stood on his hind legs.

"I don't believe you can!" he said.

"I can!" said the little Rabbit. "I can jump higher thananything!" He meant when the Boy threw him, but of coursehe didn't want to say so.

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"Can you hop on your hind legs?" asked the furry rabbit.

That was a dreadful question, for the Velveteen Rabbit had nohind legs at all! The back of him was made all in one piece,like a pincushion. He sat still in the bracken, and hoped thatthe other rabbits wouldn't notice.

"I don't want to!" he said again.

But the wild rabbits have very sharp eyes. And this onestretched out his neck and looked.

"He hasn't got any hind legs!" he called out. "Fancy a rabbitwithout any hind legs!" And he began to laugh.

"I have!" cried the little Rabbit. "I have got hind legs! I amsitting on them!"

"Then stretch them out and show me, like this!" said the wildrabbit. And he began to whirl round and dance, till the littleRabbit 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 newtickly feeling ran through him, and he felt he would giveanything in the world to be able to jump about like theserabbits did.

The strange rabbit stopped dancing, and came quite close. Hecame so close this time that his long whiskers brushed theVelveteen Rabbit's ear, and then he wrinkled his nosesuddenly and flattened his ears and jumped backwards.

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"He doesn't smell right!" he exclaimed. "He isn't a rabbit atall! He isn't real!"

"I am Real!" said the little Rabbit. "I am Real! The Boy saidso!" And he nearly began to cry.

Just then there was a sound of footsteps, and the Boy ran pastnear them, and with a stamp of feet and a flash of white tailsthe two strange rabbits disappeared.

"Come back and play with me!" called the little Rabbit. "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 hadpassed. The Velveteen Rabbit 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, andhoping that they would come back. But they never returned,and presently the sun sank lower and the little white mothsfluttered out, and the Boy came and carried him home.

Weeks passed, and the little Rabbit grew very old and shabby,but the Boy loved him just as much. He loved him so hardthat he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to hisears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began tolose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit any more,except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and thatwas all that the little Rabbit cared about. He didn't mind howhe looked to other people, because the nursery magic had

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made him Real, and when you are Real shabbiness doesn'tmatter.

And then, one day, the Boy was ill.

His face grew very flushed, and he talked in his sleep, and hislittle body was so hot that it burned the Rabbit when he heldhim close. Strange people came and went in the nursery, anda light burned all night and through it all the little VelveteenRabbit lay there, hidden from sight under the bedclothes, andhe never stirred, for he was afraid that if they found him someone might take him away, and he knew that the Boy neededhim.

It was a long weary time, for the Boy was too ill to play, andthe little Rabbit found it rather dull with nothing to do all daylong. But he snuggled down patiently, and looked forward tothe time when the Boy should be well again, and they wouldgo out in the garden amongst the flowers and the butterfliesand play splendid games in the raspberry thicket like theyused to. All sorts of delightful things he planned, and whilethe Boy lay half asleep he crept up close to the pillow andwhispered them in his ear. And presently the fever turned, andthe Boy got better. He was able to sit up in bed and look atpicture-books, while the little Rabbit cuddled close at his side.And one day, they let him get up and dress.

It was a bright, sunny morning, and the windows stood wideopen. They had carried the Boy out on to the balcony,wrapped in a shawl, and the little Rabbit lay tangled upamong the bedclothes, thinking.

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The Boy was going to the seaside to-morrow. Everything wasarranged, and now it only remained to carry out the doctor'sorders. They talked about it all, while the little Rabbit layunder the bedclothes, with just his head peeping out, andlistened. The room was to be disinfected, and all the booksand toys that the Boy had played with in bed must be burnt.

"Hurrah!" thought the little Rabbit. "To-morrow we shall goto the seaside!" For the boy had often talked of the seaside,and he wanted very much to see the big waves coming in, andthe tiny crabs, and the sand castles.

Just then Nana caught sight of him.

"How about his old Bunny?" she asked.

"That?" said the doctor. "Why, it's a mass of scarlet fevergerms!-Burn it at once. What? Nonsense! Get him a new one.He mustn't have that any more!"

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Anxious Times

And so the little Rabbit was put into a sack with the oldpicture-books and a lot of rubbish, and carried out to the endof the garden behind the fowl-house. That was a fine place tomake a bonfire, only the gardener was too busy just then toattend to it. He had the potatoes to dig and the green peas togather, but next morning he promised to come quite early andburn the whole lot.

That night the Boy slept in a different bedroom, and he had anew bunny to sleep with him. It was a splendid bunny, allwhite plush with real glass eyes, but the Boy was too excitedto care very much about it. For to-morrow he was going to the

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seaside, and that in itself was such a wonderful thing that hecould think of nothing else.

And while the Boy was asleep, dreaming of the seaside, thelittle Rabbit lay among the old picture-books in the cornerbehind the fowl-house, and he felt very lonely. The sack hadbeen left untied, and so by wriggling a bit he was able to gethis head through the opening and look out. He was shiveringa little, for he had always been used to sleeping in a properbed, and by this time his coat had worn so thin and threadbarefrom hugging that it was no longer any protection to him.Near by he could see the thicket of raspberry canes, growingtall and close like a tropical jungle, in whose shadow he hadplayed with the Boy on bygone mornings. He thought ofthose long sunlit hours in the garden-how happy theywere-and a great sadness came over him. He seemed to seethem all pass before him, each more beautiful than the other,the fairy huts in the flower-bed, the quiet evenings in thewood when he lay in the bracken and the little ants ran overhis paws; the wonderful day when he first knew that he wasReal. He thought of the Skin Horse, so wise and gentle, andall that he had told him. Of what use was it to be loved andlose one's beauty and become Real if it all ended like this?And a tear, a real tear, trickled down his little shabby velvetnose and fell to the ground.

And then a strange thing happened. For where the tear hadfallen a flower grew out of the ground, a mysterious flower,not at all like any that grew in the garden. It had slender greenleaves the colour of emeralds, and in the centre of the leaves ablossom like a golden cup. It was so beautiful that the littleRabbit forgot to cry, and just lay there watching it. And

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presently the blossom opened, and out of it there stepped afairy.

She was quite the loveliest fairy in the whole world. Her dresswas of pearl and dew-drops, and there were flowers round herneck and in her hair, and her face was like the most perfectflower of all. And she came close to the little Rabbit andgathered him up in her arms and kissed him on his velveteennose that was all damp from crying.

"Little Rabbit," she said, "don't you know who I am?"

The Rabbit looked up at her, and it seemed to him that he hadseen her face before, but he couldn't think where.

"I am the nursery magic Fairy," she said. "I take care of allthe playthings that the children have loved. When they are oldand worn out and the children don't need them any more, thenI 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 the Boy," the Fairy said, "because he lovedyou. Now you shall be Real to every one."

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The Fairy Flower

And she held the little Rabbit close in her arms and flew withhim into the wood.

It was light now, for the moon had risen. All the forest wasbeautiful, and the fronds of the bracken shone like frostedsilver. In the open glade between the tree-trunks the wildrabbits danced with their shadows on the velvet grass, butwhen they saw the Fairy they all stopped dancing and stoodround in a ring to stare at her.

"I've brought you a new playfellow," the Fairy said. "Youmust be very kind to him and teach him all he needs to know

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in Rabbit-land, for he is going to live with you for ever andever!"

And she kissed the little Rabbit again and put him down onthe grass.

"Run and play, little Rabbit!" she said.

But the little Rabbit sat quite still for a moment and nevermoved. For when he saw all the wild rabbits dancing aroundhim he suddenly remembered about his hind legs, and hedidn't want them to see that he was made all in one piece. Hedid not know that when the Fairy kissed him that last time shehad changed him altogether. And he might have sat there along time, too shy to move, if just then something hadn'ttickled his nose, and before he thought what he was doing helifted his hind toe to scratch it.

And he found that he actually had hind legs! Instead of dingyvelveteen he had brown fur, soft and shiny, his ears twitchedby themselves, and his whiskers were so long that theybrushed the grass. He gave one leap and the joy of using thosehind legs was so great that he went springing about the turf onthem, jumping sideways and whirling round as the others did,and he grew so excited that when at last he did stop to lookfor the Fairy she had gone.

He was a Real Rabbit at last, at home with the other rabbits.

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At Last! At Last!

Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the daysgrew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the woodbehind the house. And while he was playing, two rabbits creptout from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them wasbrown all over, but the other had strange markings under hisfur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots stillshowed through. And about his little soft nose and his roundblack eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boythought to himself:

"Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when Ihad scarlet fever!"

But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, comeback to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real.

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Margery Williams

Early life and writing philosophy | Marriage, children and theinfluence of Walter de la Mare's writings | Return to Americaand The Velveteen Rabbit | Successful author of children'sbooks | Final years | Bibliography

Margery Williams Bianco (22 July 1881 - 4 September1944) was an English-American author, primarily of popularchildren's books. A professional writer since the age ofnineteen, she achieved lasting fame at forty-one with the 1922publication of the classic that is her best-known work, TheVelveteen Rabbit.

Early life and writing philosophy

A native of London, Margery Winifred Williams was bornto successful and accomplished parents. The second daughterof a noted barrister and a renowned classical scholar, she,along with her sister, was encouraged by her father, whomshe remembered as a deeply loving and caring parent, to readand use her imagination. Writing about her childhood manyyears later, she recalled how vividly her father describedcharacters from various books and the infinite world ofknowledge and adventure that lay on the printed page. Shenoted that the desire to read, which soon transformed into aneed to write, was a legacy from her father that would be hersfor a lifetime.

When Margery was seven years old, her father died suddenly,a life-changing event which, in one way or another, wouldaffect all of her future creative activity. The undertone of

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sadness and the themes of death and loss that flow throughher children's books have been criticized by some reviewers,but Williams always maintained that hearts acquire greaterhumanity through pain and adversity. She wrote that life is aprocess of constant change-there are departures for some andarrivals for others-and the process allows us to grow andpersevere.

Margery moved with her family to the United States in 1890.After a year in New York, they decided to live in a ruralPennsylvania farming community. Over the succeeding years,until 1898, Margery was a student at the Convent School inSharon Hill, Pennsylvania. Her ambition to make a living asan author propelled her in 1901, at the age of nineteen, toreturn to her birthplace and submit to a London publisher herfirst children's stories. A number of these saw print, as did herfirst novel The Late Returning, which was published in 1902and aimed at an adult audience. It did not sell well and neitherdid her subsequent novels.

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Marriage, children and the influence of Walter dela Mare's writings

While visiting her publisher, Margery Williams met FranciscoBianco, an Italian living in London, who was employed as themanager of one of the book departments. They were marriedin 1904 and became the parents of a son, Cecco and adaughter, Pamela, who twenty years later would beillustrating some of her mother's books. Margery consideredmotherhood a full-time job, requiring suspension of herwriting activities.

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In 1907 the family left England, traveling through Europe forthe next three years, eventually settling in Turin, Italy. InAugust 1914 Italy, along with the rest of Europe, was plungedinto World War I and Francisco Bianco found himself in anItalian Army uniform fighting for his country along withmillions of other soldiers from many nations. Whileremaining on the homefront with the children, MargeryBianco gained hope and inspiration from the works of thepoet she called her "spiritual mentor", Walter de la Mare, whoshe felt truly understood the mindset of children.

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Return to America and The Velveteen Rabbit

At the end of 1918 the Great War had ended, but postwarhunger and deprivation cast its shadow over Europe. Biancohad retained her U.S. residency and by 1921 gainedpermission to return, along with her family, to the safety andprosperity of the United States. Inspired by the innocence andplayful imagination of her children, as well as theinspirational glow she felt from the magic and mysticismcontained in the works of Walter de la Mare, she decided toresume her writing, and gained almost immediate celebrity.

The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real wasMargery Williams Bianco's first American work, and itremains her most famous. It became an instant classic and hasremained so through numerous adaptations in children'stheater as well as on radio, television and in the movies. Theauthor's trademark undercurrents of sentimentality andsadness persist in the tale of a small boy whose Christmaspresent is a toy rabbit. The boy quickly discards the toy after

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playing with it for a few hours in the bustle of Christmas andrelatives. In the nursery the rabbit is looked down on by thefancier wind up toys, but a skin horse tells him they willeventually break, but that the rabbit has the potential tobecome real. One night when the boy cannot find the chinadog he always sleeps with, his Nana gives him the rabbit. Theboy comes to adore the rabbit, making it tunnels in his bed,and giving him rides in his wheelbarrow. This happyexistence continues until the boy contracts scarlet fever. Therabbit stays with him, whispering to him of the games theywill play again when he is better. As the boy gets better hisfamily prepares to take him to the seaside. Although therabbit looks forward to the seaside very much, the doctorinsists he be thrown out and burned along with the other toysfor health reasons. While the rabbit is waiting to be burned,he cries a real tear, from which a fairy emerges. The fairy tellsthe rabbit that he was real to the boy, because the boy lovedhim, but now she will make him truly real. Later, after theboy has received a new toy rabbit, he sees his old rabbit in thegarden. He thinks it looks like his old rabbit, but he does notknow that it really is the velveteen rabbit he once loved. Theevents described are seen from the rabbit's point of view andend on an inspirationally uplifting note.

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Successful author of children's books

After becoming a renowned author, Bianco wrote numerousother children's books, with her son becoming the namesakeof one of them, 1925's Poor Cecco: The Wonderful Story of aWonderful Wooden Dog Who Was the Jolliest Toy in theHouse Until He Went Out to Explore the World-a

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distinguished book that belies its somewhat priggish subtitleand is arguably better entitled than The Velveteen Rabbit tostatus as a classic. This lively adventure story, virtually anovel for children, is a brilliant exception to thesentimentality of Bianco's more famous book. Each of themany characters who populate the nursery toy cupboard is adistinct and amusing personality. Their interactions with eachother and with the human, animal, and toy members of theworld beyond it, whom they encounter on their quest foradventure/search for a lost friend, are delineated withunderstated humor. The relationship between the wooden dogCecco, a natural leader, and Jensina, a highly independent andspirited wooden doll, is both subtle and funny. Superbillustrations by Arthur Rackham are a perfect complement tothe narrative. While the publisher probably found it morepractical to promote the shorter Velveteen Rabbit, Cecco'scelebrated illustrator may have assured its survival in thecatalogues of rare book dealers despite its undeserved literaryobscurity. A return to more sober themes marks Bianco'sother popular works, such as the same year's The LittleWooden Doll, illustrated by her daughter Pamela, in whichthe title character is badly mistreated by some children, butshown love and compassion by another child, which made herwhole again.

Each year, for the remaining two decades of her life, Biancoproduced numerous books and short stories. Most of themcontinued her preoccupation with toys coming to life and theability of inanimate objects and animals to express humanemotions and feelings. There was always melancholy, but inthe end the reader emerged spiritually uplifted. 1926's TheApple Tree and The Adventures of Andy, 1927's The SkinHorse, also illustrated by Pamela, 1929's The Candlestick,

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1930's Other People's Houses and 1931's The House thatGrew Smaller are among some of her works from that period.

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Final years

In her final nine years, Bianco interspersed children's bookswith novels for young adults. These all featured young peoplewho were in one way or another isolated or alienated frommainstream society and the joy, success, prosperity and socialacceptance seemingly enjoyed by their peers. One of thosebooks, Winterbound, about two girls, still in their teenageyears, who are called upon to assume adult responsibilities incaring for their young siblings, when the parents have to goaway suddenly, was a runner-up for the 1937 Newbery Medalshowcasing excellence in youth literature. In 1971, upon theestablishment of the Newbery Honor, the work wasretroactively distinguished with that prestigious citation.

In 1939, as her native Britain was once again plunged intowar, Bianco began to include patriotic themes and referencesto European history in her works, such as 1941's Franzi andGizi. Her final book, 1944's Forward Commandos!, was aninspirational story of wartime heroism, which included as oneof its characters a black soldier. Acknowledging thecontribution of African-Americans to the war effort wasextremely rare in literary output of the time and that fact wasnoted in the book's reviews.

Margery Williams Bianco did not live to see World War IIcome to an end. As Forward Commandos! went on sale, she

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became ill and, after three days in the hospital, died at the ageof 63.

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Bibliography

WorksWorks Translated

Works

1902 The Late Returning 1904 The Price of Youth 1906 The Bar 1922 The Velveteen Rabbit 1925 Poor Cecco 1925 The Little Wooden Doll 1926 The Apple Tree 1927 The Skin Horse 1927 The Adventures of Andy 1929 All About Pets 1929 The Candlestick 1931 The House That Grew Smaller 1932 The Street of Little Shops 1933 The Hurdy-Gurdy Man 1934 The Good Friends 1934 More About Animals 1936 Green Grows the Garden 1936 Winterbound 1939 Other People's Houses 1941 Franzi and Gizi

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1942 Bright Morning 1942 Penny and the White Horse 1944 Forward, Commandos!

Works Translated

1927 The African Saga Translated from the French of BlaiseCendrars.

1928 Juniper Farm Translated from the French of RenBazin.

1929 Little Black Stories Translated from the French of BlaiseCendrars.

1937 Rufus, the Fox Translated from the French of Samivel.

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Go to TopMargery Williams