gh, there was the big fish taking a sun-bath. Mr. Osprey hardly wet
his feet putting those big hooks into that fish. He flew away with it,
and presently he was rid of that emptiness in his stomach and had back
his peace of mind. After that, whenever he was hungry, he went fishing
instead of hunting the birds and the animals. By practice he learned how
to use those big fishhooks of his and became one of the smartest of all
fishermen. He and little Mr. Sparrow became great friends, in fact, such
friends that when Mr. Osprey built a great nest, little Mr. Sparrow
built his right in the side of it, and there he was perfectly safe from
others who might be hunting him. And it's been just that way ever since.
If you wore scales instead of fur, and lived in the water instead of on
the land, Peter Rabbit, you would have reason to fear Plunger the
Osprey, but as it is, you are safer when he is about than when he isn't.
There comes old Redtail the Hawk. You'd better get out of sight, Peter."

Peter did.

XIV

WHERE OLD MR. BOB-CAT LEFT HIS HONOR

Of all those who are forever trying to catch Peter Rabbit, he fears none
more than Yowler the Bob-cat. And from that fear has grown hate. You
will find it true all through life that hate often springs from great
fear. Peter isn't much given to hate, but he does hate Yowler the
Bob-cat. It is partly because of his fear of Yowler, but it is still
more because he feels that Yowler is not fair in his hunting. He has no
honor. There are many others whom Peter fears,--Reddy Fox, Old Man
Coyote, Hooty the Owl,--and with very good reason. But Peter considers
that these hunt him fairly. He knows when and where to be on the watch
for them.

But with Yowler it is altogether different. Yowler hides beside one of
Peter's favorite little paths, and there he waits patiently for
unsuspecting Peter to come along. He waits and watches much as Black
Pussy, who is a cousin of Yowler, waits and watches at a mousehole.
Peter feels that it doesn't give him a chance, and everybody is entitled
to at least a chance to live.

"I hate him! hate him! hate him!" exclaimed Peter fiercely, as he
crawled under the very middle of a great pile of brush after the
narrowest of narrow escapes. He had been hopping along one of his
favorite little paths without a thought of danger. Presently he came to
a little branch path. There he hesitated. He had intended to keep on
along the main path, but suddenly he had a