116 



SUMMER 



through the mountains, yet more tremulous and not 

 so piercing. 



I waited. Presently a little gray form crept over 

 a stone, stopped and whistled, then disappeared. It 

 was my cony ! 



If you can think of Molly Cottontail turned into 

 the shape of a guinea-pig about eight inches long, 



with positively no tail at all, and with big round 

 broad ears, and with all four legs of equal length so 

 that the creature walks instead of hopping, if you 

 can imagine such a rabbit, you will get a pretty 

 clear picture of the cony, or pika, or " little chief 

 hare." 



I kept as still as the stones. Presently the plain- 

 tive, bleating whistle sounded from nowhere again 

 behind me, beyond me, up the slide or down, I 



