One hot, muggy night in August, Molly led Rag through the
woods. The cotton-white cushion she wore under her tail twinkled
ahead and was his guiding lantern, though it went out as soon as
she stopped and sat on it. After a few runs and stops to listen, they
came to the edge of the pond. The hylas in the trees above them
were singing 'sleep, sleep,' and away out on a sunken log in the
decp water, up to his chin in the cool-ing bath, a bloated bullfrog
was singing the praises of a 'jug o' rutn.'

"Follow me still," said Molly, in rabbit, and 'flop' she went into the
pond and struck out for the sunken log in the middle. Rag flinched
but plunged with a little 'ouch,' gasping and wobbling his nose very
fast but still copying his mother. The same movements as on land
sent him through the water, and thus he found he could swim, On
he went till he reached the sunken log and scrambled up by his
dripping mother on the high dry end, with a rushy screen around
them and the Water that tells no tales. After this on warm black
nights when that old fox from Springfield came prowling through
the Swamp, Rag would note the place of the bullfrog's voice, for in
case of direst need it might be a guide to safety. And thenceforth
the words of the song that the bullfrog sang were 'Come, come, in
danger come.'

This was the latest study that Rag took up with his mother--it was
really a post-graduate course, for many little rabbits never learn it
at all.

VI