It was a straight race. The brierrose, kind to all rabbits alike, did its
best, but it was no use. The baying of the hound was fast and
steady. The crashing of the brush and the yelping of the hound
each time the briers tore his tender ears were borne to the two
rabbits where they crouched in hiding. But suddenly these sounds
stopped, there was a scuffle, then loud and terrible screaming. Rag
knew what it meant and it sent a shiver through him, but he soon
forgot that when all was over and rejoiced to be once more the
master of the dear old Swamp.

VIII

Old Olifant had doubtless a right to burn all those brush-piles in
the east and south of the Swamp and to clear up the wreck of the
old barbed-wire hog-pen just below the spring. But it was none the
less hard on Rag and his mother. The first were their various
residences and outposts, and the second their grand fastness and
safe retreat.

They had so long held the Swamp and felt it to be their very own
in every part and suburb--including Olifant's grounds and
buildings--that they would have resented the appearance of another
rabbit even about the adjoining barnyard.

Their claim, that of long, successful occupancy, was exactly the
same as that by which most nations hold their land, and it would
be hard to find a better right.

During the time of the January thaw the Olifants had cut the rest of
the large wood about the pond and curtailed the Cottontails'