hunters when he went along through the snow. He did not think now,
however, whether any one saw him or not. He was a very old hare
indeed, and the winter was proving too hard for him. He was lame and
hungry and half frozen. He stopped right in front of Son-of-a-Brave
and sat up on his haunches, his ears drooping.

"Don't shoot me," he was trying to say. "I am at your mercy, too
starved to run away from you."

Son-of-a-Brave slipped his newly tipped arrow in his bow and aimed at
the old hare. It would be very easy indeed to shoot him, for the hare
did not move, and the boy thought what a warm pair of moccasin tops
his skin would make. Then Son-of-a-Brave took his arrow out again, for
another thought had come to him. He knew that it would be cowardly to
shoot a hare that was too weak to run away.

The boy stooped down and picked up the old hare, wrapping him up close
to his own warm body in his blanket. Then he went with him through the
snow of the woods until they came to a place where a stream lay, and
there were young willow trees growing along the edge. Here he set down
the hare, and began to dig away the ice and frozen earth with his new
arrow tip until the roots of the trees could be seen, and the soft
bark. How the hare did eat these! As Son-of-a-Brave left him and went
home, he could still see the famished creature nibbling the food for
which he had been so hungry.

The Indian boy never saw the hare again that winter. He knew that he
had dug a large enough hole so that the hare could find shelter and
have enough food. His bow and arrow were hung on the wall, and
Son-of-a-Brave sat by the fire with his mother and father until spring
came.

One day a bird sang out in the forest. Then the streams began to sing,
and the moss that made a carpet all over the ground outside the wigwam
was again green. Son-of-a-Brave felt like running and shouting. He
left off his blanket and went out into the woods to play.

He had scarcely gone a rod from the wigwam when he saw a large gray
hare, following him. This was strange for one usually ran away.
Son-of-a-Brave waited, and the hare came close to him. Then he saw,
because it limped, that it was the old hare that he had befriended in
the winter, but fat and well fed, and dressed in his summer coat.

The hare flopped his ears to Son-of-a-Brave and hopped a little way
ahead, so the boy followed. He went on, without stopping, until he
came to the very spot beside the stream w