o wander that way, when he
crossed my path he would have followed it up to the barn and have gone
smelling around for a bone; but this sharp, cautious track held straight
across all others, keeping five or six rods from the house, up the hill,
across the highway toward a neighboring farmstead, with its nose in the
air, and its eye and ear alert, so to speak.

One summer a wild rabbit came up within a few feet of my neighbor's
house, scooped out a little place in the turf, and reared her family
there. I suppose she felt more secure from prowling cats and dogs than
in the garden or vineyard. My neighbor took me out to let me into her
secret. He pointed down to the ground a few feet in front of us and
said, "There it is." I looked and saw nothing but the newly mown turf
with one spot the size of my two hands where the grass was apparently
dead. "I see no rabbit nor any signs of a rabbit," I replied. He
stooped to this dry spot and lifted up a little blanket or carpet of
matted dry grass and revealed one of the prettiest sights I had ever
seen, and the only one of the kind I had ever looked upon!--four or five
little rabbits half the size of chipmunks, cuddled down in a dry
fur-lined nest. They did not move or wink, and their ears were pressed
down close to their heads. My neighbor let the coverlet fall back, and
they were hidden again as by magic.

They had been discovered a few days before when the lawn was mown, and
one, as it sprang out from the nest, was killed by the mower, who
mistook it for a young rat. The rest of them fled and disappeared
through the grass, but the next morning they were back in the nest,
where they remained for several days longer. Only at night, so far as
was observed, did the mother visit and nurse them.

There was no opening into the nest, the mat of dried grass covered it
completely, so that the mother, in her visits to them, must have lifted
it up and crept beneath. It was a very pretty and cunning device. One
might have stepped upon it in his walk, but surely his eyes alone would
never have penetrated the secret. I am told by men wise in the lore of
the fields and woods that the rabbit always covers her nest and young
with a little blanket, usually made of fur plucked from her own breast.

[Illustration: GRAY RABBIT]

The rabbit seems to suffer very little from the deep snows and severe
cold of winter. The deeper the snow, the nearer she is brought to the
tops of the tender bushes and