no FLUFF-BUTTON THE RABBIT 
after sunset she squatted upon a ' rabbit's table.' 
There is a rabbit ' table ' in almost every glade. 
It is generally a moss-grown tree stump, or more 
seldom an ant-hill, upon which the rabbits love 
to sit for the sake of the expansive view (compara- 
tively speaking) which the extra twelve inches 
affords them. It is also very often a trysting- 
place. The White Rabbit was washing herself. It 
was the penalty which she paid for her uniqueness, 
that she was obliged to spend no mean portion of 
the day combing her pink ears and cleansing her 
silky stockings. Hence she neither heard nor 
winded the fox's approach until he snapped a twig 
in the clearing itself. Then, looking up, she saw 
in the shadows what appeared to be a pair of red 
stars. The blood of the White Rabbit seemed 
turned to water ; she was paralysed with fear ; even 
her nose ceased its eternal tremolo. She could 
only stare back, bemused with terror. It must be 
said that the fox had not entered the glade with any 
fixed idea of hunting there, he was merely passing 
through it ; hence the increased awfulness of the 
apparition of the ghost-rabbit on the moss cushion. 
It was nearly dark, but a shaft of light came down 
aslant between two tree-tops. In the gloom she 
appeared larger than her natural size misty, 
luminous. The hair along the fox's spine bristled, 
