“When they had grown to the length you now see, they began to shrink and grow hard.  The knobs on the ends shrank until they became pointed.  As soon as they stopped growing the blood stopped flowing up in them, and as they became hard they were no longer tender.  The skin which had covered them grew dry and split, and I rubbed it off on trees and bushes.  The little rags you see are what is left, but I will soon be rid of those.  Then I shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him.”

Lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers against the nearest tree.  “Isn’t he handsome,” whispered Peter to Jumper the Hare; “and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the growing of those new antlers in such a short time?  It is hard to believe, but I suppose it must be true.”

“It is,” replied Jumper, “and I tell you, Peter, I would hate to have Lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though I were big as a man.  You’ve always thought of Lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should see him when he is angry.  Few people care to face him then.”

CHAPTER IV:  The Spirit Of Fear

   When the days grow cold and the nights are clear,
   There stalks abroad the spirit of fear.
       — Lightfoot the Deer.

It is sad but true.  Autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it is the sad time.  But it shouldn’t be.  Old Mother Nature never intended that it should be.  She meant it to be the glad time.  It is the time when all the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows have got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching their children how to look out for themselves.  It is the season when food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free.  It is the season when Old Mother Nature intended all her little people to be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always brings.

But instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the Green Meadows and through the Green Forest, and it is called the Spirit of Fear.  It peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun cannot chase away, though he shine his brightest.  All night as well as all day the Spirit of Fear searches out the little people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest.  It will not let them sleep.  It will not let them eat in peace.  It drives them to seek new hiding-places and then drives them out of those.  It keeps them ever ready to fly or run at the slightest sound.