1 86 IN BERKSHIRE FIELDS 



Land, pock-marked with shell-holes. Not only un- 

 der the bushes, but in an open space outside, ten feet 

 across, he had hopped or danced round and about. 

 But his former lair was deserted nature had 

 evicted him. It had been the neatest little winter 

 quarters you ever saw, a hole scarcely six inches in 

 diameter leading beneath a root and in under the 

 heart of the old stump, the entrance half hidden by 

 the drooping, snow-laden branches of a young hem- 

 lock that had sprouted in the rotten wood. But 

 the recent thaw had raised the water-level of the 

 swamp, and now the hole was filled solid with ice. 

 Curious to see what he had done about it, I picked 

 up the single track leading away from the play- 

 ground (his dance last night had quite evidently 

 been a solo), and followed it. I could also dis- 

 cover, thought I, what he had eaten since last 

 evening, when the snow stopped falling. 



This track led me directly toward a slight rise of 

 forest ground, well above swamp-level. Mr. Rab- 

 bit had nosed about a bit, like a dog, especially 

 running in under every small hemlock which roofed 

 the snow with its low branches, and there squatting 

 down. But nowhere could I find a trace that he 

 had so much as nibbled a shoot. Even back in his 

 playground not a twig of the shrubbery was nibbled. 

 After a short distance the tracks led to another 

 stump, less picturesque than the first, but better 

 drained, and here was a similar hole. Tracks led 

 both in and out, and grayish hairs were adhering to 

 the root under which he had to squeeze to enter. 

 I poked into the hole, but could not reach the 

 end, as it speedily took a sharp curve. So I se- 



