Presently he heard a sound close behind that reminded him of the noise the mother screech-owl had made when she snapped her beak. Getting up cautiously he looked about. There, in deep shade, perched on the gnarled root of a hickory tree that overlapped the rock, was a great owl with a smooth, round head, blue-black eyes, and brown, barred feathers. The bird sat still without blinking, watching a small hole under the root. Tommy stood still, scarcely breathing, in his wonder at the bird, hoping that it would not see him and flap in his face as the screech-owl had in Anne’s. Suddenly a young chipmunk, with back and tail striped like a garter snake’s, ran out of the hole. One of the hooked claws made a grab, snap went the beak, the little animal was secured, and the owl, spreading its broad wings, flew into a hemlock, where it began to eat at its leisure. Then only did Tommy remember his gun, and about his promise to Miss Letty. [Illustration] “Never mind,” he said to himself; “father says owls are usefuller than most things they eat, and that they oughtn’t to be killed, so I’m glad I let him go; but rabbits eat lots of our garden things every year. I must look for that bunny, because it’s here somewhere, for when Mr. Hugh says so, it always happens.” Tommy found his way back to the path, and met Waddles hurrying along; he also had found poor hunting, and was now willing to follow. After walking some distance, and having several false alarms (for when on the watch a couple of beech leaves or a tuft of wild grass take fanciful shapes), Tommy actually saw a pair of long ears held erect, and a pair of bright eyes glistening around the corner of a rock just before him. His first fear was that Waddles should see the prize and chase it away before he had a chance to aim and cock his trigger, which was quite a feat, the spring was so strong. For once, Waddles neither scented nor suspected anything, but kept close to Tommy’s heels, nosing about in the moss. One step more, the child raised his gun, shut his eyes, and fired, and then a reaction came, and he didn’t like to open them again, so sure he was of having killed the pretty creature. Finally he peeped a little, then stared, for there sat the rabbit as round-eyed and placid as before; it had not even moved! Tommy’s impulse to fire again was stopped by the thought that it would be very mean to shoot such a tame animal, and that it must be some one’s pet, though it was not Pinkie Scott’s, for everybody in Dogtown knew her rabbits by heart, they had carried them home to her so many times, when they had strayed off gardening on their own hook. [Illustration: _Tommy meets the Rabbit._]