Go into the woods on some pleasant summer day, in one of the pleasant sandy districts, where the sweet, lemony odour of the pine-trees floats through the sunny air, and the woodland slope is dotted with holes, and freshly scratched out patches of yellowish sand abound. Sit down and don't move, and in a short time, quite unexpectedly, you will see rabbits seated in front of these holes. You have not seen them come out, for they seem to arrive there instantaneously--first one or two, then several; and if there is neither movement nor noise, more and more will appear, to begin nibbling the grass at the edge of the wood, or playing about, racing after each other, almost as full of pranks as kittens. Now and then one will raise itself upon its hind-legs like a dog begging, ears erect and quivering, now turned in one direction, now in another. Then, all at once, _rap, rap_!--that sharp alarm stamp given by the foot--there is a wild race, and dozens of white cottony tails are seen disappearing at the mouths of holes, and in another instant not a rabbit is to be seen. What was it? You listen, but all seems still. You can hear the twittering of birds, perhaps the harsh call of a jay, or the laughing chatter of a magpie, but those familiar sounds would not have startled the rabbits; and if you are new to such woodland matters, you will conclude that some one of the nearest fur-coated fellows must have caught sight of you, called out danger, and sent the colony flying. But if you are accustomed to the woods and the animal nature there, you will listen, and in a short time hear that which startled the little animals, the cry reaching their sensitive ears long before it penetrated your duller organs. There it is again--a fine-drawn, shrill, piercing cry as of some animal in trouble. This is repeated at intervals till it comes nearer and nearer, and develops into a querulous, frightened scream uttered by some little creature in fear or pain. Both, say; for in another moment a fine grey rabbit comes into sight running slowly, and looking in nowise distressed by over-exertion as it passes on in front of where you sit, going in and out among the tree trunks and ferns, paying no heed to the many burrows, each of which would make a harbour of refuge and perhaps save its life, though that is very doubtful. It might, too, you think, save itself by rushing off at full speed, as it would if it caught sight of you, or a dog chased it. But no, it goes on running slowly, uttering at times its terrified scream, which you hear again and again long after the rabbit has disappeared--a cry which seems to say: "It's all over; I am marked down, and though I keep on running, I can never get away. It will catch me soon."