Much of the time that season was spent in learning the lay of the land, and the bramble and brier mazes.  And Rag learned them so well that he could go all around the swamp by two different ways and never leave the friendly briers at any place for more than five hops.

It is not long since the foes of the Cottontails were disgusted to find that man had brought a new kind of bramble and planted it in long lines throughout the country.  It was so strong that no creatures could break it down, and so sharp that the toughest skin was torn by it.  Each year there was more of it and each year it became a more serious matter to the wild creatures.  But Molly Cottontail had no fear of it.  She was not brought up in the briers for nothing.  Dogs and foxes, cattle and sheep, and even man himself might be torn by those fearful spikes:  but Molly understands it and lives and thrives under it.  And the further it spreads the more safe country there is for the Cottontail.  And the name of this new and dreaded bramble is—­the barbed-wire fence.

III

Molly had no other children to look after now, so Rag had all her care.  He was unusually quick and bright as well as strong, and he had uncommonly good chances; so he got on remarkably well.

All the season she kept him busy learning the tricks of the trail, and what to eat and drink and what not to touch.  Day by day she worked to train him; little by little she taught him, putting into his mind hundreds of ideas that her own life or early training had stored in hers, and so equipped him with the knowledge that makes life possible to their kind.

Close by her side in the clover-field or the thicket he would sit and copy her when she wobbled her nose ‘to keep her smeller clear,’ and pull the bite from her mouth or taste her lips to make sure he was getting the same kind of fodder.  Still copying her, he learned to comb his ears with his claws and to dress his coat and to bite the burrs out of his vest and socks.  He learned, too, that nothing but clear dewdrops from the briers were fit for a rabbit to drink, as water which has once touched the earth must surely bear some taint.  Thus he began the study of woodcraft, the oldest of all sciences.

As soon as Rag was big enough to go out alone, his mother taught him the signal code.  Rabbits telegraph each other by thumping on the ground with their hind feet.  Along the ground sound carries far; a thump that at six feet from the earth is not heard at twenty yards will, near the ground, be heard at least one hundred yards.  Rabbits have very keen hearing, and so might hear this same thump at two hundred yards, and that would reach from end to end of Olifant’s Swamp.  A single thump means ‘look out’ or ‘freeze.’  A slow thump thump means ‘come.’  A fast thump thump means ‘danger;’ and a very fast thump thump thump means ‘run for dear life.’