Long-Ear became bewildered.

Accordingly he strayed hither and thither, ill at ease, not knowing
where he was, nor finding his way. He sought in vain for that from
which he fled and that which fled from him. But what was the reason
for this? Was not Heaven happiness? Was there any stillness that
could be more still? In what other resting-place could Cleft-Lip have
dreamed a sleep more undisturbed than on these beds of wool that the
breeze spread beneath the flower-covered bushes of the stars?

But he did not sleep here, because he missed his constant uneasiness
and other things. Crouching in the ditches of Heaven he no longer
had the feeling beneath the whiteness of his short tail of the chilly
dampness penetrating through and through him. The mosquitoes, who had
withdrawn to their own Paradise of shallow pools, no longer filled
his always open eyelids with the sharp burning sensation of summer.
He longed regretfully for this fever. His heart no longer beat as
powerfully as it had beaten when on knolls in the flame-colored heath
a shot scattered the earth like rain about him. Under the smooth
caress of the lawn-like grass hair grew again on the callous parts
of his paws where it had been so sparse. And he began to deplore the
over-abundance of heaven. He was like the gardener who, having become
king, was forced to put on sandals of purple, and longed regretfully
for his wooden shoes heavy with clay and with poverty.

* * * * *

And Francis in his Paradise heard of Rabbit's troubles and of his
bewilderment. And the heart of Francis was grieved that one of his
old companions was not happy. From that moment the streets of the