But Tommy had no intention of leaving such a fine place, such a beautifully safe place, unless he had to, and no mere thumps on the ground could make him believe that. He could thump himself. He did. Those long hind-feet of his were just made for thumping. When he hit the ground with them, he did it with a will, and the thumps he made sounded just as ugly and threatening as the other fellow’s, and he knew that the other fellow knew exactly what they meant--“I’ll do as I please! Put me out if you can!” It was very clear that this was just what the other proposed to do if his thumps meant anything at all. Presently Tommy saw a trim, neat-looking rabbit in a little open space, and it was something of a relief to find that he was about Tommy’s own size. “If I can’t whip him, he certainly can’t whip me,” thought Tommy, and straightway thumped, “I’m coming,” in reply to the stranger’s angry demand that he come out and fight. Now the stranger was none other than Peter Rabbit, and he was very indignant. He considered that he owned the dear Old Briar-patch. He was perfectly willing that any other rabbit should find safety there in time of danger, but when the danger was past, they must get out. Tommy hadn’t; therefore he must be driven out. Now if Tommy had been himself, instead of a rabbit, never, never would he have dreamed of fighting as he was preparing to fight now--by biting and kicking, particularly kicking. But for a rabbit, kicking was quite the correct and proper thing. In fact, it was the only way to fight. So instead of coming together head-on, Tommy and Peter approached each other in queer little half-sidewise rushes, each watching for a chance to use his stout hind-feet. Suddenly Peter rushed, jumped, and--well, when Tommy picked himself up, he felt very much as a boy feels when he has been tackled and thrown in a football game. Certainly Peter’s hind-legs were in good working order. Just a minute later Tommy’s chance came and Peter was sent sprawling. Like a flash, Tommy was after him, biting and pulling out little bunches of soft fur. So they fought until at last they were so out of wind and so tired that there was no fight left in either. Then they lay and panted for breath, and quite suddenly they forgot their quarrel. Each knew that he couldn’t whip the other; and, that being so, what was the use of fighting? “I suppose this Old Briar-patch is big enough for both of us,” said Peter, after a little. “I’ll live on one side, and you live on the other,” replied Tommy. And so it was agreed. In three things Tommy found that, as a rabbit, he was not unlike Tommy the boy. These three were appetite, curiosity, and a decided preference for pleasure rather than work. Tommy felt as if he lived to eat instead of eating to live. He wanted to eat most of the time. It seemed as if he never could get his stomach really full.