life, his muzzle resting on the sandal of Francis. For two days his
neck had been so weak that it could no longer support his head, and
his spine had become like the branch of a bramble bespattered with
mud, shivering in the wind. His master kissed him on the forehead.

Then the lamb, the sheep-dogs, the hawks, the owl, and the ewe gave up
their souls, and finally also the little spaniel whom Rabbit in vain
had sought to keep warm. She passed away wagging her tail, and
it grieved stubble-colored Rabbit so much that it took until the
following day before he could touch the bark of the oaks again.

* * * * *

And in the midst of the world's desolation Francis prayed, his
forehead on his clenched hand, just as in an excess of sorrow a poet
feels his soul escaping him once more.

Then he addressed him of the cleft lip.

"Oh Rabbit, I hear a voice which tells me that you must lead these
(and he pointed to the bodies of the animals) to Eternal Blessedness.
Oh Rabbit, there is a Paradise for beasts, but I know it not. No man
will ever enter it. Oh Rabbit, you must guide thither these friends,
whom God has given me and whom he has taken away. You are wise among
all, and to your prudence I commit these friends."

The words of Francis rose toward the brightening sky. The hard azure
of winter gradually became limpid. And under this returning gladness,
it seemed as if the graceful spaniel were about to raise her supple,
silken ears again. "Oh my friends who are dead," said Francis, "are