“Ho!” interrupted Tommy Tit, “I know him.  He’s Old Jed Thumper, the oldest, biggest, crossest Rabbit anywhere around.  He’s lived in the Old Pasture so long that he thinks he owns it.  It’s a wonder that he hasn’t killed you.”

“I guess perhaps he would have only I can run faster than he can,” replied Peter, looking a little shamefaced because he had to own up that he ran away instead of fighting.

Tommy Tit laughed.  “That’s the very wisest thing you could have done,” said he.  “But why don’t you go back to the dear Old Briar-patch in the Green Meadows?”

Peter hesitated and looked a wee bit foolish.  Finally he told Tommy Tit all about the two soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind a big fern, and how he wanted to know who the eyes belonged to.

“If that’s all you want to know, I can tell you,” said Tommy Tit, jumping out into the air to catch a foolish little bug who tried to fly past.  “Those eyes belong to little Miss Fuzzy-tail, and she’s the favorite daughter of Old Jed Thumper.  You take my advice, Peter Rabbit, and trot along home to the Old Briar-patch before you get into any more trouble.  There’s my wife calling.  Yes, my dear, I’m coming!  Chickadee-dee-dee!”

And with a wink and a nod to Peter Rabbit, off flew Tommy Tit.

CHAPTER XIII

LITTLE MISS FUZZYTAIL

Foolish questions waste time, but wise questions lead to knowledge. 
                                          Peter Rabbit.

“Little Miss Fuzzytail!” Peter said it over and over again, as he sat on the sunning-bank in the far corner of the Old Pasture, where Tommy Tit the Chickadee had left him.

“It’s a pretty name,” said Peter.  “Yes, Sir, it’s a pretty name.  It’s the prettiest name I’ve ever heard.  I wonder if she is just as pretty.  I—­I—­think she must be.  Yes, I am quite sure she must be.”  Peter was thinking of the soft, gentle eyes he had seen peeping at him from behind the big fern, and of the dainty little footprint he had found there afterward.  So he sat on the sunning-bank, dreaming pleasant dreams and wondering if he could find little Miss Fuzzytail if he should go look for her.

Now all the time, although Peter didn’t know it, little Miss Fuzzytail was very close by.  She was right back in her old hiding-place behind the big fern, shyly peeping out at him from under a great leaf, where she was sure he wouldn’t see her.  She saw the long tears in Peter’s coat, made by the cruel claws of Hooty the Owl, and she saw the places where her father, Old Jed Thumper, had pulled the hair out with his teeth.  She saw how thin and miserable Peter looked, and tears of pity filled the soft, gentle eyes of little Miss Fuzzytail, for, you see, she had a very tender heart.

“He’s got a very nice face,” thought Miss Fuzzytail, “and he certainly was very polite, and I do love good manners.  And Peter is such a nice sounding name!  It sounds so honest and good and true.  Poor fellow!  Poor Peter Rabbit!” Here little Miss Fuzzytail wiped her eyes.  “He looks so miserable I do wish I could do something for him.  I—­I—­oh, dear, I do believe he is coming right over here!  I guess I better be going.  How he limps!”