The hapless, human Hare sought to efface himself behind Toiney's back. And the woodchopper began to execute an excited war-dance, flourishing the axe wherewith he had been musically felling a young birch tree for fuel. "Ha! you Leon, you _coquin_, _gamin_--rogue--you'll say dat one time more, den I go lick you, me!" he cried in his imperfect English eked out with indignant French. "No, you won't go lick me--you!" Nevertheless Starrie Chase and his mocking face retreated a little; he had no fancy for tackling Toiney and the axe. "That boy's name is Harold Greer; it's too bad about him," Coombsie was whispering in Nix Warren's ear. "The doctor says he's 'all there,' nothing wrong with him mentally. But he was born frightened--abnormally timid--and he seems to get worse instead o' better. He's afraid of everything, of his own shadow, I think, and more still of the shadows of others: I mean he's so shy that he won't speak to anybody--if he can help it--except his grandfather and Toiney and the old woman who keeps house for them." Nixon looked pityingly at the boy who lived thus in his own shadow--the shadow of a baseless fear. "Whew! it must be bad to be born scared!" he gasped. "I wish we could get Toiney to sing some more." At this moment there came a wild shout from Colin who had been exploring the clearing and stumbled upon something near the outhouses. "Gracious! what is it--a wildcat?" he cried. "It isn't a fox--though it has a bushy tail! It's as big as half a dozen squirrels. Hulloo-oo!" in yelling excitement, "it must be a coon--a young coon." There was a general stampede for the hen-house, amid the squawking cackle of its rightful inhabitants. Toiney followed, so did the human Hare, keeping always behind his back and casting nervous glances in Leon's direction. "Ha! _le petit raton_--de littal coon!" gasped the woodchopper. "W'en I go on top of hen-house dis morning w'at you t'ink I fin' dere, engh? I fin' heem littal coon! I'll t'ink he kill two, t'ree poulets--littal chick!" gesticulating fiercely at the dead marauder and at the bodies of some slain chickens. "Dog he kill heem; but, _sapré_! he fight lak _diable_! Engh?" The last exclamation was a grunt of inquiry as to whether the boys understood how that young raccoon, about two-thirds grown, had fought. Toiney shruggingly rubbed his hands on his blue shirt-sleeves while he pointed to a mongrel dog, the other participant in that early-morning battle, with whom Leon's terrier had been exchanging canine courtesies. Blink forsook his scarred brother now and sniffed eagerly at the coon's dead body as he had sniffed at the poor yellow-legs in the dust.