Rag had never seen any other rabbit than his mother. Indeed he
had scarcely thought about there being any other. He was more and
more away from her now, and yet he never felt lonely, for rabbits
do not hanker for company. But one day in December, while he
was among the red dogwood brush, cutting a new path to the great
Creekside thicket, he saw all at once against the sky over the
Sunning Bank the head and ears of a strange rabbit. The newcomer
had the air of a well-pleased discoverer and soon came hopping
Rag's way along one of his paths into his Swamp. A new feeling
rushed over him, that boiling mixture of anger and hatred called
jealousy.

The stranger stopped at one of Rag's rubbing-trees-- that is, a tree
against which he used to stand on his heels and rub his chin as far
up as he could reach. He thought he did this simply because he
liked it; but all buckrabbits do so, and several ends are served. It
makes the tree rabbity, so that other rabbits know that this swamp
already belongs to a rabbit family and is not open for settlement. It
also lets the next one know by the scent if the last caller was an
acquaintance, and the height from the ground of the rubbing-places
shows how tall the rabbit is.

Now to his disgust Rag noticed that the new-corner was a head
taller than himself, and a big, stout buck at that. This was a wholly
new experience and filled Rag with a wholly new feeling. The
spirit of murder entered his heart; he chewed very hard at nothing
in his mouth, and hopping forward onto a smooth piece of hard
ground he struck slowly:

'Thump--thump--thump,' which is a rabbit telegram for 'Get out of