IN THE WAKE OF THE PARTRIDGE 193 



found myself face to face nose to nose 

 with a calm, mild-eyed, cottontail rabbit. He 

 did not remain calm; in fact, we were both 

 startled, but he recovered first, and hopped 

 softly over the side of the rock, and went gal 

 loping away through the brushy bottom, while 

 I, still kneeling, watched him disappear just 

 as Jonathan came up. 



&quot;What s the joke?&quot; 



&quot;Nothing, only I just met a rabbit. He 

 sat here, right here, and he was so rabbit-y! 

 He looked at me just like an Easter card.&quot; 



&quot;Why did n t you shoot him?&quot; 



&quot;I never thought of it. I wish you had 

 seen how his nose twiddled! And, anyhow, 

 I would n t shoot anything sitting up that 

 way, like a tame kitten.&quot; 



&quot;Then why did n t you shoot when he 

 ran?&quot; 



&quot;Shoot a rabbit running! Running in scal 

 lops! I could n t.&quot; 



The fact is, I should n t shoot a rabbit any 

 way, unless driven by hunger. I am not hu 

 mane, but merely sentimental about them 

 because they are soft and pretty. Once, in 

 deed, when I found all my beautiful heads of 



