THE TIMID ONE

The nest was a small hole scooped out of the turf and lined with bits of fur from the mother bunny’s breast. The five baby bunnies lay packed close together. Their long ears were pressed flat on their furry backs, and their hind-legs were doubled up under their round, little soft bodies.

Over them rested a blanket of dry grass and fur matted together. The sunlight outside shone through tiny holes here and there. Once the bravest bunny poked up the cover and tried to look out. All he could see was a little roof of green grasses interlacing above the nest. The grasses rustled in the summer breeze.

During the day the babies cuddled down fast asleep. Sometimes a red ant wandered into the nest. It clambered down from wisp to wisp of dead grass and scurried across the bunnies’ faces. That tickled so that they screwed up their pink noses and opened their round bright eyes for a drowsy minute. Once a big spider crawled upon the edge and stared at them with all its eyes, till the bravest bunny scared it away with a flap of his ears. Another time a bird flew down to the nest and pecked at the blanket till its bill stuck through and almost pricked one of the babies.

Toward evening the bunnies began to wake up for the night. They squirmed about, curling their toes, stretching their long legs, and cocking their ears to listen for the mother bunny’s step. At last they heard the soft thump-thump-thump of her furry paws as she came leaping over the grass from the bushes where she had been dozing. How joyfully the babies wriggled at sight of her! As soon as she had lifted the blanket and crept underneath they snuggled close to her. They were hungry for the warm milk which she had always ready for them to drink.

As the days passed the little bunnies began to grow too big for the nest. Their hind-legs felt stronger and stronger for jumping. Indeed, the bravest bunny had a naughty way of kicking his brothers and sisters. He set his heels against their soft sides and pushed in hard jerks, for the fun of making them squirm and squeal. Sometimes they kicked back, but not very often, because they were afraid to make much noise.

Their mother taught them to be as still as they could while she was absent. The only way for such helpless little creatures to escape being eaten by their many enemies was to keep out of sight. Snakes would not notice them if they stayed quiet in the nest. Hungry hawks and owls could not find out where they were hidden if they did not move. The bit of a blanket looked like a patch of dead grass. Foxes and wild-cats and the rest could not smell them so long as they lay still.

They were timid little things, and their ears seemed to be always twitching to catch the least sounds. On some warm afternoons they woke up early, and waited for the mother to bring their supper of milk. Outside they heard the plop of grasshoppers jumping from stem to stalk. The flutter of butterflies and the buzzing of bees over the clover-blossoms sounded loud enough. The shrill whirring of a locust made them tremble and quake. Perhaps they were afraid that it was something coming to eat them up.

When the bunnies were strong enough to leave the nest they went to live in the brush with their mother. Away they all galloped over the grass. Their long ears flapped up and down, and the furry soles of their hind-legs twinkled behind them. They did not stop to look around till they were safe in the shelter of the bushes. Then every one of them turned, and sat up on his haunches with his little fore-paws in the air. With their ears pointed forward, and their round eyes shining, they looked back at the grassy spot where they had lived in the hidden cosy nest.

At that very minute, when they were all so excited and happy, the old mother caught sight of a fox stealing after them. At a sign from her the little bunnies sat as still as if they were made of stone. They were almost the same color as the sticks and dry leaves around them. Nobody would notice them unless they should move.

But that sly old fox was not looking for them with his eyes; he was following their tracks, with his nose close to the ground. He smelled his way nearer and nearer. The trembling babies could see the sharp white teeth between his lips. His narrow eyes gleamed hungrily. Finally he crept so near that he could smell them in the air. They saw him lift his head and snuff in their direction, one of his fore-paws raised for the next step.

Suddenly the mother bunny sprang out before his face and darted off helter-skelter into the woods. She wanted to lead the fox away from her little ones. Away she dashed under the bushes and over the logs, up slopes and down gullies, dodging now this way now that. Once he was so close that he opened his jaws to seize her. At that she turned like a flash, and ran right between his legs. Then into a swamp she went bounding in great leaps. There the fox lost sight of her, and could not find her scent in the water. She left him nosing hungrily back and forth, while she hurried back to her babies. They were sitting as still as stones just where she had told them to stay.

Almost the first thing the mother bunny did, after gathering her family in the woods, was to find different holes for hiding-places. One hole was in a hollow stump, and another was in an old woodchuck-burrow. She told the little ones that they must not go near the holes, except when they could not escape in any other way. If they went often they would make a path, and then their enemies could find out their hiding-places.

It was pleasant there in the underbrush of the woods. They felt almost safe with briers above them to keep away their hungry enemies. The smell of the mossy earth was warm and sweet. The buds and leaves and bark were spicy and fragrant. The bunnies sniffed hither and thither, twitching their noses and jerking their ears.

When they stopped living on milk they learned to feed on grasses and juicy roots and twigs. The old mother showed them what was good to eat. Like the beavers and squirrels the bunnies belonged to the Order of Gnawers. Each one had four little nibbling teeth in the front of his mouth, and grinding teeth in the back. They did not have such strong teeth as the beavers, who could cut down trees, or the squirrels, who gnawed hard nuts.

The Rabbit.
“It was pleasant there in the underbrush of the woods.” Page 84.

Though the bunnies could not fight well, because they had no sharp claws and teeth, they could jump higher and farther and faster than any of their cousins. They soon found out that the best way to escape when chased by their enemies was to trust in the nimbleness of their legs.

Of course when they saw any hungry animal looking for something to eat it was best for them to lie perfectly still so as to avoid being seen. But if the animal caught sight of them they must run and dodge and double and hide for their lives. It was generally wiser to keep on running till the other lost the scent rather than to creep into a hole. If the hungry hunter happened to be a mink or a weasel he could crawl in after them and kill them.

The bunnies did not try to dig their own holes. They were really hares, though they were so much like rabbits, who were true burrowers. Once in the woods the bravest bunny saw a true rabbit. This rabbit had a family of little ones in a deep burrow. They had been born blind and naked, but the little hares had been born with their eyes open and fur on their bodies. True rabbits were brought to America from across the sea.

In spite of their dangerous adventures the bunnies enjoyed the long summer. Every morning at earliest dawn up they hopped from the forms. The spot of flattened grass where each furry body had been resting was called a “form.” Away to the clover-field they went leaping, one by one. There they drank the dewdrops, and ate a breakfast of sweet green leaves. They took a nibble here and a nibble there. Then they sat up on their haunches and looked around to spy out a possible enemy. Their round eyes twinkled this way and that, and their long ears twitched nervously at every sound.

The twittering of the birds did not frighten them. They seemed to know that there was no danger-signal in the rustling of leaves on the trees, or the splashing of frogs in the pond. Even the crackle of twigs under the footsteps of a deer did not send them running. They must have known that grass-eating animals would not harm them.

But the stealthy wriggling of a snake in the grass sent them scurrying wildly into the thickest underbrush. When they heard a stick crack under the trees they seemed to know at once what kind of animal was creeping near. At the soft tread of a fox or a wild-cat they sat as still as stones, unless they knew that they had been seen. If that happened they bounded away in a race for life.

When the sunshine fell bright on some sandy hillside the bunnies went there, and stretched out like kittens in the pleasant warmth. They squirmed and blinked and turned slowly over and over. They lay on their backs and waved their paws in the air. They had five toes on each fore-paw and four on each hind-paw. Even then, while twisting and stretching in enjoyment, they were on the alert. At the sound of a caw from a neighboring tree, or at the sight of a hawk hovering far above, they all leapt to their feet, and scampered out of sight in a twinkling.

Then for hours they sat on their forms in the shade of the bushes and dozed, half asleep, but ready to bound away at the first hint of danger. The scream of a blue jay startled every bunny wide awake in an instant. The jays always saw everything in the woods. The bunnies waited, without stirring, till they could find out what the trouble was. Sometimes it was a dog hunting for rabbits; sometimes it was a snake coiled in the sun, or a baby fox playing with his own tail; sometimes it was only a red squirrel chattering and scolding at the blue jay.

On warm afternoons the winged ticks hovered about, biting the bunnies on the tips of their ears and sensitive noses. Then the bunnies hid under skunk cabbages in the marshy spots. The bad smell kept the ticks away. It was cool and pleasant there. The five babies lay still, listening to the soft whirring and drowsy buzzing of insects, in the hot sunshine beyond the marsh.

After the sun went down the bunnies scattered to find their supper of tender twigs or grasses or roots. Always, while they nibbled, they kept twitching their ears forward and back. Every minute or two each one paused to sit erect, and roll his bright eyes in all directions. All the time his little jaws were working busily. Then perhaps they dressed their fur coats, combing their ears with their paws, and biting the burrs from their vests and socks.

Off with a hop, skip, and jump for a frolic in an open space in the woods! What a gay time the five little bunnies had there with their friends! They went leaping, one after another. Some tore through the ferns and hopped over the logs, with their long ears flapping. They sprang straight up into the air, kicking out their hind-legs. They jumped over each other, and scurried wildly round and round. One whirled about like a kitten, chasing his own short tail. The bravest bunny danced on his hind-legs all alone in the moonlight.

When summer was over the cool days of autumn found the bunnies friskier than ever. They had half a dozen smaller brothers and sisters by this time, because the old mother had two or three nestfuls of little ones in a year. There was plenty for everybody to eat in the woods and fields. The little creatures feasted on roots and apples and soft-shelled nuts till they grew round and sleek. The bravest bunny became so fat and lazy that he hated to run. Whenever he was being chased by any enemy he slipped into the first hole he saw. He would certainly have been caught one day if the weasel behind him had not happened to have a lame foot from his last fight. When he stopped to untangle it from a strawberry-vine the bunny had time to escape.

Winter was hard on the bunny family. They could not run so fast through the soft snow as on the firm ground. Their enemies could see their footprints, and follow more easily. Often and often, when a little fellow had gone out to nibble twigs and buds, he heard something move behind him. And there, not far away, he saw a fox ready to spring on him.

The bravest bunny slept under a rotten log. He always slept with his legs doubled under him, fixed for a great jump away, in case any hungry animal came nosing around. He did not mind the cold, for his fur was fine and thick and warm. Even inside his mouth the soft fur grew, as well as on the soles of his feet.

When spring came the bunnies were more glad than any of the other small creatures in the woods. It was a joy to feel the warm breezes blow their fur. They did not care so much for the warmth as for the tender buds which it opened on the trees. Green leaves came peeping out of the ground, and flowers blossomed in sheltered nooks.

Birds were singing, and frogs began their croaking in the meadows. The woods were busy with the hurry-skurry of little feet. Now once more there was plenty for everybody to eat. The bunnies were glad because of that. But perhaps they were even more glad, because now their hungry enemies could hunt many other animals besides the timid bunnies.