But, fortunately for him, before he felt
himself obliged to come to any final decision, something happened, and
his pain and doubts were forgotten.
Two big yellow-gray snowshoe rabbits came hopping lazily past, one just
ahead of the other. One jumped clean over Uncle Andy's out-stretched
feet, as if they were of no account or interest whatever to a rabbit.
The other stopped and thumped vigorously on the ground with his strong
hind foot. At this signal the first one also stopped. They both sat
up on their haunches, ears thrust forward in intense interrogation, and
gazed at the two moveless figures behind the poplar sapling.
The one immediately in front of him absorbed all the Child's attention.
Its great, bulging eyes surveyed him from head to foot, at first with
some alarm, then with half-contemptuous curiosity. Its immensely long
ears see-sawed meditatively, and its queer three-cornered mouth
twinkled incessantly as if it were talking to itself. At last,
apparently having decided that the Child was nothing worth taking
further notice of, it dropped on all fours, nibbled at a leaf,
discarded it, and hopped off to find more tasty provender. Its
companion, having "sized up" Uncle Andy in the same way, presently
followed.
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