10 BOBBY LYNX OF BOUND-TOP 
stolen out of the little rabbit home and 
into the path of Mrs. Lynx. The babies 
were all safely asleep and Mrs. Rabbit, as 
softly as a bit of thistledown, crept back 
to the opening of her house and peeked 
out among the tangled roots of the spruce. 
Mrs. Lynx was still pad-padding 
along, her head held high as she sniffed 
the soft spring winds blowing down old 
Round-Top’s rocky slopes. There were 
delicious odors of swelling buds and open¬ 
ing wild flowers,—warm, soft, moist 
smells from the marsh at the foot of the 
hill. But Mrs. Lynx didn’t care for these 
smells at all. Her stiff, black whiskers 
moved this way and that as her nose 
twitched up and down, seeking for the 
particular smell she wanted,—rabbit or 
young birds or even a squirrel. Most any¬ 
thing would do for breakfast, for she had 
not been able all night to find even a tiny 
field-mouse and, as the sun crept over the 
