ONE WINTER'S NIGHT. 11 
‘froze. Something was coming up behind 
him, was running his trail. Only the white 
plush carpet of snow had allowed it to get 
so close. 
It was a weasel. 
.For a moment the two stood staring at 
each other—the old rabbit all of a heap; the 
neat, long, low, little weasel with head up. 
Presently the weasel skirmished around. The 
old rabbit pivoted to face him, but he did 
not bolt. 
Then the little slayer came to the conclusion 
that he had made a mistake, and that between 
a fat and foolish young bunny and this crusty 
old buck there might be a lot of difference 
when it came to a fight. 
Wherefore the weasel went, and the buck 
warily continued his way. 
After a time our rabbit came to a kitchen- 
garden behind a cottage in the woods. I 
suppose he knew he would—had the place in 
his mind’s eye. There were all manner of 
good things in this place—swedes and turnips, 
cabbages, stored potatoes, and so forth. This 
was better any night than barking trees or 
digging through snow for old grass-blades. 
He was not alone in his knowledge, how- 
ever. As he looked through the hedge he 
saw that many dim shadows slid about over 
