grasp of his murderer. Then poor old Rabbit leaped up. He clawed in
vain for the ground which he could no longer reach because the man did
not let go of him. Rabbit passed away drop by drop.

Suddenly his hair stood erect, and he became like unto the stubble of
summer where he formerly dwelled beside his sister, the quail, and the
poppy, his brother; and like unto the clayey earth which had wetted
his beggar's paws; and like unto the gray-brown color with which
September days clothe the hill whose shape he had assumed; like unto
the rough cloth of Francis; like unto the wagon-track on the roadway
from which he heard the packs of hounds with hanging ears, singing
like the angelus; like unto the barren rock which the wild thyme
loves. In his look where now floated a mist of bluish night there was
something like unto the blessed meadow where the heart of his beloved
awaited him at the heart of the wild sorrel. The tears which he shed
were like unto the fountain of the seraphs at which sat the old fisher
of eels repairing his lines. He was like unto life, like unto death,
like unto himself, like unto his Paradise.


END OF THE ROMANCE OF THE RABBIT





TALES