Peter hid his dandelions, and accompanied the afflicted parent, who was all of atwitter.  They crossed several fields and began to climb the hill; the tracks of Tommy Brock were plainly to be seen.  He seemed to have put down the sack every dozen yards, to rest.

“He must be very puffed; we are close behind him, by the scent.  What a nasty person!” said Peter.

The sunshine was still warm and slanting on the hill pastures.  Half way up, Cottontail was sitting in her doorway, with four or five half-grown little rabbits playing about her; one black and the others brown.

Cottontail had seen Tommy
Brock passing in the distance. 
Asked whether her husband was at
home she replied that Tommy
Brock had rested twice while she
watched him.

He had nodded, and pointed to the sack, and seemed doubled up with laughing.—­“Come away, Peter; he will be cooking them; come quicker!” said Benjamin Bunny.

They climbed up and up;—­“He was at home; I saw his black ears peeping out of the hole.”  “They live too near the rocks to quarrel with their neighbors.  Come on, Cousin Benjamin!”

When they came near the wood at the top of Bull Banks, they went cautiously.  The trees grew amongst heaped up rocks; and there, beneath a crag, Mr. Tod had made one of his homes.  It was at the top of a steep bank; the rocks and bushes overhung it.  The rabbits crept up carefully, listening and peeping.

This house was something between a cave, a prison, and a tumbledown pigsty.  There was a strong door, which was shut and locked.

The setting sun made the window panes glow like red flame; but the kitchen fire was not alight.  It was neatly laid with dry sticks, as the rabbits could see, when they peeped through the window.

Benjamin sighed with relief.

But there were preparations upon the kitchen table which made him shudder.  There was an immense empty pie dish of blue willow pattern, and a large carving knife and fork, and a chopper.

At the other end of the table was a partly unfolded tablecloth, a plate, a tumbler, a knife and fork, salt cellar, mustard and a chair—­ in short, preparations for one person’s supper.

No person was to be seen, and no young rabbits.  The kitchen was empty and silent; the clock had run down.  Peter and Benjamin flattened their noses against the window, and stared into the dusk.

Then they scrambled round the rocks to the other side of the house.  It was damp and smelly, and over-grown with thorns and briars.

The rabbits shivered in their shoes.

“Oh my poor rabbit babies!  What a dreadful place; I shall never see them again!” sighed Benjamin.

They crept up to the bedroom window.  It was closed and bolted like the kitchen.  But there were signs that this window had been recently open; the cobwebs were disturbed, and there were fresh dirty footmarks upon the windowsill.