up to where he slept, but each time the watchful Rag awoke in time to escape.  To escape yet not to escape.  He saved his life indeed, but oh! what a miserable life it had become.  How maddening to be thus helpless, to see his little mother daily beaten and torn, as well as to see all his favorite feeding-grounds, the cosey nooks, and the pathways he had made with so much labor, forced from him by this hateful brute.  Unhappy Rag realized that to the victor belong the spoils, and he hated him more than ever he did fox or ferret.

How was it to end?  He was wearing out with running and watching and bad food, and little Molly’s strength and spirit were breaking down under the long persecution.  The stranger was ready to go to all lengths to destroy poor Rag, and at last stooped to the worst crime known among rabbits.  However much they may hate each other, all good rabbits forget their feuds when their common enemy appears.  Yet one day when a great goshawk came swooping over the Swamp, the stranger, keeping well under cover himself, tried again and again to drive Rag into the open.

Once or twice the hawk nearly had him, but still the briers saved him, and it was only when the big buck himself came near being caught that he gave it up.  And again Rag escaped, but was no better off.  He made up his mind to leave, with his mother, if possible, next night and go into the world in quest of some new home when he heard old Thunder, the hound, sniffing and searching about the outskirts of the swamp, and he resolved on playing a desperate game.  He deliberately crossed the hound’s view, and the chase that then began was fast and furious.  Thrice around the Swamp they went till Rag had made sure that his mother was hidden safely and that his hated foe was in his usual nest.  Then right into that nest and plump over him he jumped, giving him a rap with one hind foot as he passed over his head.

“You miserable fool, I kill you yet,” cried the stranger, and up he jumped only to find himself between Rag and the dog and heir to all the peril of the chase.

On came the hound baying hotly on the straight-away scent.  The buck’s weight and size were great advantages in a rabbit fight, but now they were fatal.  He did not know many tricks.  Just the simple ones like ‘double,’ ‘wind,’ and ‘hole-up,’ that every baby Bunny knows.  But the chase was too close for doubling and winding, and he didn’t know where the holes were.

It was a straight race.  The brier-rose, kind to all rabbits alike, did its best, but it was no use.  The baying of the hound was fast and steady.  The crashing of the brush and the yelping of the hound each time the briers tore his tender ears were borne to the two rabbits where they crouched in hiding.  But suddenly these sounds stopped, there was a scuffle, then loud and terrible screaming.

Rag knew what it meant and it sent a shiver through him, but he soon forgot that when all was over and rejoiced to be once more the master of the dear old Swamp.