This one had simply streaked out of the night from nowhere—­and behind—­and knocked the cat flying before she knew.  Then, ere ever the feline could gather her wits, the old doe had descended upon her with an avalanche of blows—­punches they were with the forefeet, all over the head and the nose, where a cat hates to be hit—­and all so swiftly, so irresistibly, that that cat had never been given a chance to consider before she was stampeded into the night.  It was the silver tabby’s first experience of Mrs. Rabbit doing the devoted-mother act, and, by the look of her—­tail only—­and the speed at which she was going, it appeared most likely that it would be her last.

[Illustration:  “This one had simply streaked out of the night from nowhere”]

Meanwhile the old doe-rabbit sat there in the moonlight as immovable and impassive as a Buddha, and the hedgehog, peering at her, guessed that the time to unroll was not yet.  He knew that it would hurt any one to attack him; the cat knew it; all rabbits in their senses knew it; but was that mother-rabbit in her senses?  He concluded to lie low and remain a fortress, therefore.

Then, after waiting about five minutes, as if she knew that cats sometimes steal back, the old doe-rabbit came to a “stop” quite close to the hedgehog, and went in.  She remained there some time, during which a fox came by and sniffed at the hedgehog, but was quite wise as to the foolishness of doing more; and a deadly, curved-backed, flat-headed little murderer of a stoat galloped by, and sniffed too, but was no bigger fool than the fox, and went his way.

Both missed the “stop” by about two yards, though I don’t know what would have happened if they had found it.  Digging and death in the former case, and battle and blood in the latter, perhaps.  But no matter, they passed on their unlawful occasions; and half-an-hour after the going of the stoat the old doe-rabbit came out, and dissolved into the moon-haze.

Then the hedgehog came out, too—­of himself, and—­well, dissolved into the “stop.”

What happened in there it was too dark to see, but not to hear; and what one could hear was—­pitiful.  He was there some time, for your hedgehog rarely hurries; and when he came out again, his little pig’s eyes gleaming red under their spined cowl, it was with the same snuffling, softly grunting deliberation with which he had gone in; but the pale moon, that showed the gleam in his eyes, showed also blood on his snout, and on the bristles of his forefeet, blood.

Then, slowly, snorting, sniffing very audibly—­as loud as a big dog often does—­grunting softly in an undertone, as if talking to himself, he departed, rustling through the grass, leaving an irregular winding track behind in the dew and the gossamer, as he searched, eternally searched, for food.