nd try to escape from him by running?

The woods were very thick all along the river's bank, and there were many
good hiding-places; but Mr. Fox stood ready to head him off either way he
ran. Bumper was in a quandary just what to do.

"Good morning, Mr. Fox!" he called, hoping to gain time by being polite
and friendly.

Mr. Fox sniffed the air, raising his nose several inches above his head.
He seemed quite uncertain about something, but his nose apparently
satisfied him.

"Good morning," he answered finally, grinning. "But what a joke you played
on me, Mr. Rabbit. I couldn't believe my own eyes. What's happened to
you?"

"Why, nothing," stammered Bumper, mystified. "Why do you ask such a
question."

"Why? Because you're all white. I thought first you were a ghost. And your
eyes--they're pink. Whoever heard of a white rabbit with pink eyes?"

Bumper was quick to see the cause of the fox's surprise. Like the crow, he
had never seen a white rabbit before, and he suddenly gained confidence by
this knowledge.

"How do you know I'm not a ghost?" he asked, smiling.

"How do I know? Ha! Ha! That's a good one! But I'll tell you how I know. I
smell you. No ghost could have that delicious rabbit smell that fills my
nose every time the wind blows toward me."

Bumper, for the lack of any words to say, laughed long and hard at this
remark. Then he controlled himself, and added: "I wouldn't trust my nose,
Mr. Fox. A rabbit's ghost might smell just as sweet and delicious as a
real one."

"I don't believe it," grinned Mr. Fox. "Anyway, I'm going to find out. If
you're a ghost, why, it will be easy enough for you to disappear."

"Yes, of course, but I should hate to disappoint you. Now, do you know
where rabbits go when they die?"

"Yes, in my stomach."

Mr. Fox laughed long and loud at this cruel joke, and Bumper winced; but
he was playing for time to think of a plan to escape. Evidently Mr. Fox
was not to be outwitted by flattery, and he determined upon another ruse.

There was a fallen tree near him, but to reach it he would have to advance
a few feet straight toward the fox. The heart of the tree was rotten and
hollow, and to escape in this was Bumper's design. But how to distract Mr.
Fox's attention until he could reach it was the question.

"Oh, Mr. Fox," he said suddenly, "I met Mr. Crow on the river, and he
asked me about the white crows in the city. When I told him, he flew away
to the city to see if living