Raggylug a\\ 



plied Molly, " but we have not yet seen the 

 pelt of that mink on the end of the barn, and it 

 is not safe till we do." 



The hollow hickory was gone — in fact at this 

 very moment its trunk, lying in the wood-yard, 

 was harboring the mink they feared. So the 

 Cottontails hopped to the south side of the 

 pond and, choosing a brush-pile, they crept un- 

 der and snuggled down for the night, facing 

 the wind but with their noses in different direc- 

 tions so as to go out different ways in case of 

 alarm. The wind blew harder and colder as 

 the hours went by, and about midnight a fine, icy 

 snow came ticking down on the dead leaves and 

 hissing through the brush heap. It might seem 

 a poor night for hunting, but that old fox from 

 Springfield was out. He came pointing up the 

 wind in th-e shelter of the Swamp and chanced 

 in the lee of the brush-pile, where he scented 

 the sleeping Cottontails. He halted for a mo- 

 ment, then came stealthily sneaking up toward 

 the brush under which his nose told him the 

 rabbits were crouching. The noise of the wind 

 and the sleet enabled him to come quite close 

 before Molly heard the faint crunch of a dry 

 leaf under his paw. She touched Rag's whis- 

 kers, and both were fully awake just as the fox 

 sprang on them ; but they always slept with 



