Peter Rabbit was finding this out. Always he had been happy, for happiness had been born in him. But the happiness he had known before was nothing to the happiness that was his when he found that he loved little Miss Fuzzytail and that little Miss Fuzzytail loved him, Peter was sure that she did love him, although she wouldn't say so. But love doesn't need words, and Peter had seen it shining in the two soft, gentle eyes of little Miss Fuzzytail. So Peter was happy in spite of the trouble that Old led Thumper, the big, gray Rabbit who was the father of little Miss Fuzzytail, had made for him in the Old Pasture.

He had tried very hard, very hard indeed, to get little Miss Fuzzytail to go back with him to the dear Old Briar-patch on the Green Meadows, but in spite of all he could say she couldn't make up her mind to leave the Old Pasture, which, you know, had been her home ever since she was born. And Peter couldn't make up his mind to go back there and leave her, because—why, because he loved her so much that he felt that he could never, never be happy without her. Then, when Old Jed Thumper was hunting Peter so hard that he hardly had a chance to eat or sleep, had come Old Man Coyote the Wolf and given Old Jed Thumper such a fright that for a week he didn't dare poke so much as his nose out of his bull-briar castle.

Now, although Old Man Coyote didn't know it, his terrible voice had frightened little Miss Fuzzytail almost as much as it had Old Jed Thumper. You see, she never had heard it before, She didn't even know what it was, and all that night she had crouched in her most secret hiding-place, shivering and shaking with fright. The next morning Peter had found her there. She hadn't slept a wink, and she was still too frightened to even go look for her breakfast.

“Oh, Peter Rabbit, did you hear that terrible noise last night?” she cried.

“What noise?” asked Peter, just as if he didn't know anything about it.

“Why, that terrible voice!” cried little Miss Fuzzytail, and shivered at the thought of it.

“What was it like?” asked Peter.

“Oh, I can't tell you,” said little Miss Fuzzy tall, “It wasn't like anything I ever had heard before. It was something like the voice of Hooty the Owl and the voice of Dippy the Loon and the voice of a little yelping dog all in one, and it was just terrible!”

“Oh?” replied Peter, “you must mean the voice of my friend. Old Man Coyote. He came up here last night just to do me a good turn because I once did him a good turn.”

Then he told all about how Old Man Coyote had come to the Green Meadows to live, and how he was smarter than even old Granny Fox, but he didn't tell her how he himself had once been frightened almost out of a year's growth by that terrible voice, or that it was because he hadn't really believed that Old Man Coyote was his friend that had led him to leave the Old Briar-patch and come up to the Old Pasture.

“Is—is he fond of Rabbits?” asked little Miss Fuzzytail.

Peter was quite sure that he was.

“And do you think he'll come up here hunting again?” she asked.

Peter didn't know, but he suspected that he would.

“Oh, dear,” wailed little Miss Fuzzytail. “Now, I never, never will feel safe again!”

Then Peter had a happy thought. “I tell you what,” said he, “the safest place in the world for you and me is my dear Old Briar-patch, Won't you go there now?”

Little Miss Fuzzytail sighed and dropped a tear or two. Then she nestled up close to Peter. “Yes,” she whispered.