The little rabbit-babies were just old
enough to open their blue eyes and
kick. They lay in a fluffy bed of
rabbit wool and hay, in a shallow
burrow, separate from the main
rabbit hole. To tell the truth--old
Mr. Bouncer had forgotten them.

He sat in the sun, and conversed
cordially with Tommy Brock, who
was passing through the wood with
a sack and a little spud which he used
for digging, and some mole traps.
He complained bitterly about the
scarcity of pheasants' eggs, and
accused Mr. Tod of poaching
them. And the otters had cleared
off all the frogs while he was asleep
in winter--"I have not had a good
square meal for a fortnight, I am
living on pig-nuts. I shall have to
turn vegetarian and eat my own
tail!" said Tommy Brock.

It was not much of a joke, but it
tickled old Mr. Bouncer; because
Tommy Brock was so fat and
stumpy and grinning.

So old Mr. Bouncer laughed; and