There were but two ground-holes in the Swamp. One on the
Sunning Bank, which was a dry sheltered knoll in the South-end. It
was open and sloping to the sun, and here on fine days the
Cottontails took their sun-baths. They stretched out among the
fragrant pine needles and winter-green in odd cat-like positions,
and turned slowly over as though roasting and wishing all sides
well done. And they blinked and panted, and squirmed as if in
dreadful pain; yet this was one of the keenest enjoyments they
knew.

Just over the brow of the knoll was a large pine stump. Its
grotesque roots wriggled out above the yellow sand-bank like
dragons, and under their protecting claws a sulky old woodchuck
had digged a den long ago.

He became more sour and ill-tempered as weeks went by, and
one day waited to quarrel with Olifant's dog instead of going in so
that Molly Cottontail was able to take possession of the den an
hour later.

This, the pine-root hole, was afterward very coolly taken by a
self-sufficient young skunk who with less valor might have
enjoyed greater longevity, for he imagined -- that even man with a
gun would fly from him. Instead of keeping Molly from the den
for good, therefore, his reign, like that of a certain Hebrew king,
was over in seven days.

The other, the fern-hole, was in a fern thicket next the clover field.
It was small and damp, and useless except as a last retreat. It also
was the work of a woodchuck, a well~meaning friendly neighbor,