SNOW STORIES 49 



and even the dogged, devilish little weasel can run 

 him down. 



We looked at the form where he had been lying. 

 It was a wet little hollow made in the dank grass, 

 with only a few dripping leaves for a mattress — a 

 forlorn bed. Yet Runny-Bunny, as some children I 

 know have named him, seems to rest well in his open- 

 air sleeping porch, and even lies abed there. 



One far-away snowy day in February two of us 

 stole a few moments from the bedside of a sick 

 child — how long, long ago it all seems now ! — and 

 walked out among the wild-folk to forget. In a bleak 

 meadow, right at our feet, we saw a rabbit crouched, 

 nearly covered by the snow. He had been snowed 

 under days before, but had slept out the storm 

 until half of his fleecy coverlet had melted away. 



He lay so still that at first we thought he was 

 dead; but on looking closely, we could see the quick 

 throbbing of his frightened little heart. There was 

 not a quiver from his taut body, or a blink from his 

 wide-open eyes. He lay motionless until my hand 

 stroked gently his wet fur. Then, indeed, he ex- 

 ploded like a brown bomb-shell from the snow, and 

 we laughed and laughed, the first and last time for 

 many a weary week. 



Years later, I was coasting down the meadow-hill 

 with one of my boys; and, as the sled came to a stop, 

 a rabbit burst out of the snow, almost between the 

 runners. The astonished boy rolled into a drift as if 

 blown clear off his sled by the force of the explosion. 



To-day, as the Brownie sped over the soft snow, we 



