A steep pass leads down to the plain shortly after we cross the stile from the Sewingshields plantation. This is called Cat Gate. When I was staying in this neighbourhood the farmer told me it was the only point where the Sewingshields Crags could be ascended or descended. I did not dispute it, but I smiled to myself, for during my wanderings I had many times gone up and down the Crags at other points. I used to love to sit half-way down the Crags and watch the rabbits, who got so used to me that I believe they only thought of me as a queer kind of a rock. When I was sketching I used to see hundreds of rabbits sitting about, one on every {113} projecting rock below me. The Crags swarm with them. One evening an old father rabbit showed his unconcern at my presence by sitting up a few feet off, scratching his front abstractedly with his fore-paws while he looked at me, as much as to say, "I know what you are." Just then I gave an unfortunate sneeze, and it seemed to set all the crags in motion. The _thump, thump_, of the parental hind-legs, warning their subterranean families of danger, sounded on every side. It is a great proof of family affection that these older rabbits will stop in the danger-zone and _thump_, as they do, thus losing precious time that might be occupied in flight. The first time I saw this process, I thought my friend the rabbit had been seized with a sudden nervous affection, but I soon found it was only obeying a universal instinct; and even hutched rabbits, after generations of domesticity, and with their families safe by their sides, will carry on the tradition, and _thump_ on the floor of their hutches, to give warning of danger. Once at the top of Cat Gate I found a pocket-book, almost hidden in the heather. I picked it up, and could see it contained a sheaf of Treasury notes. An hour or so later I saw a young man coming slowly along at the foot of the Crags, looking distractedly from side to side. I stood up, and shouted, "Catch!" and you should have seen the way his expression changed as the pocket-book {114} went hurtling through the air! In these almost pathless regions it is a serious matter to lose anything of value.