Tenants. 69 



Once I sat on the prostrate trunk of a willow that some 

 storm of several summers past had blown down, watching 

 the bats fly from the ventilator in the roof of the barn, 

 when from under the building came a rabbit and shortly, 

 from beneath the house, another. They ran about in the 

 grass, twitching their noses and flapping their ears. One 

 sat in the path as a horse came near, and finally when it 

 was obliged to retreat, ran under the log on which I lay. 

 Afterward it sat in the grass near the doghouse, whose oc- 

 cupant commenced to howl, for just then the old German 

 came driving a cow along the path to the barn. The 

 rabbit remained quiet, though so plainly visible, and the 

 old man and the cow passed close by. Whether from 

 knowingness or stupidity, this habit of keeping still at the 

 approach of danger has saved many members of Bunny's 

 family from destruction. 



The anxious howling of the dog was easily explained, 

 for his supper was given him in the barn, and when he 

 was untied he made a dead set for the door, and often 

 bunked against it. He ran as fast as he could for his sup- 

 per, and as he slept in the barn, this daily run was the chiet 

 novelty of his existence, the only change. 



In June, when the young bats left their mothers and 

 flew about on their own account, many of them fell within 

 the reach of this same dog and were quickly despatched. 

 In the morning their dead bodies were thrown out of the 

 window by the old man, who complained of their foolish- 

 ness. These little bats would also hang up anywhere 

 about the barn, for, perhaps, they were unable to find the 

 way to the general assemblies of their kind. All day sev- 



