so on, but what to do when chased by another rabbit, he did not
know. All he knew was to lie low till he was found, then run.

Poor little Molly was completely terrorized; she could not help
Rag and sought only to hide. But the big buck soon found her out.
She tried to run from him, but she was not now so swift as Rag.
The stranger made no attempt to kill her, but he made love to her,
and because she hated him and tried to get away, he treated her
shamefully. Day after day he worried her by following her about,
and often, furious at her lasting hatred, he would knock her down
and tear out mouthfuls of her soft fur till his rage cooled
somewhat, when he would let her go for a while. But his fixed
purpose was to kill Rag, whose escape seemed hopeless. There
was no other swamp he could go to, and whenever he took a nap
now he had to be ready at any moment to dash for his life. A dozen
times a day the big stranger came creeping up to where he slept,
but each time the watchful Rag awoke in time to escape. To
escape yet not to escape. He saved his life indeed, but oh! what a
miserable life it had become. How maddening to be thus helpless,
to see his little mother daily beaten and torn, as well as to see all
his favorite feeding-grounds, the cosy nooks, and the pathways he
had made with so much labor, forced from him by this hateful
brute. Unhappy Rag realized that to the victor belong the spoils,
and he hated him more than ever he did fox or ferret.

How was it to end? He was wearing out with running and watching
and bad food, and little Molly's strength and spirit were breaking
down under the long persecution. The stranger was ready to go to
all lengths to destroy poor Rag, and at last stooped to the worst
crime known among rabbits. However much they may hate each