“It was lonely that day up in the kennel yard, I can tell you. Flo said it made her feel like the leaf-fall time, when she had the distemper, and all the bird dogs had gone travelling in their crates but she; and she was glad to talk to a lame-winged crow that came to beg, for the only grown dog in the big lot was old Antonio, and with him the young spaniels Ruth, Dell, and Una, who plagued his wits out by chasing him round and round the pool, and daring him to swim. “Meanwhile the beagles were all over the woods, and I--well, I went with them, just for old acquaintance sake, you know. There were plenty of young rabbits round about, but somehow we were confused, and let them slip; too many trails are worse than none, I find. But just before evening Clover-Dew, my litter brother, and Briar, my aunt, broke loose, going off together, and I following, for they ran well, and the trail lay straight. “Up from the wood they went, across pastures and a truck farm, until they gave tongue that the scent was hot, and the quarry close in front, then I saw two big rabbits that were the poorest leapers of any I ever knew. Will you believe it, Waddles, they even sat up once or twice and looked back at us. We overtook them in a fence corner that had a garden on the other side. We three charged together, and there was a great tussle, for if those rabbits were stupid about running, they were fine kickers. Just as I had the biggest well by the leg, a man and a little girl came to the fence, and when she saw what we were doing, she began to hop up and down and scream, and cry, ‘Oh, papa, save my poor bunnies!’ Then I saw that she was Tommy’s friend, Pinkie Scott, and those fool rabbits were the foreign Hare things her father gave her for her birthday, and that she keeps in a great big bird-cage,--that is, when she remembers to shut the door, which isn’t often. Of course, we were polite and let go, and went a little way back in the field and sat down to rest. The rabbits? Oh, one wasn’t hurt, but the other was--well--damaged; they mended him, for I saw him last week when I was down there to call on Luck and Pluck with Tommy. Pinkie had forgotten again, and those rabbits had broken loose and eaten all the late lettuce, and her father was chasing them, and he said, ‘I wish those little hounds had finished you last summer.’ Then I didn’t feel quite so ashamed of biting that hind leg as I had before, and, Waddles, do you know, that everywhere I go to visit, private rabbits seem to be a nuisance, and a ‘better be dead’; so I’m sure they ought to be fair hunting, like the wild ones.” “Humph!” said Waddles, “good running as usual, but poor catching. What did the foxhounds get, a mouthful of thistle-down?”