“Drop me an ice cream pine cone,” laughed the little bunny. But the selfish old bird instead threw a snowball, hitting the little rabbit on the tip of his tail.
Off he hopped, for he wasn’t going to have snowballs thrown at him. No, sireeman. And pretty soon, not so very far, he met Brownie Mink creeping along by the Old Duck Pond.
“I must be very careful these days,” he whispered. “People wear fur in the winter time and that dreadful Miller’s boy may set a trap. If it catches me I’ll be a muff instead of a little mink.”
“They set traps for me, too!” answered the little bunny. “Besides, I must look out for Danny Fox and Old Man Weasel. And sometimes, and maybe oftener, for Robber Hawk. You’re not the only one who has to look out for himself.”
All of a sudden the little rabbit felt hungry and, opening his knapsack, handed a lollypop to Brownie Mink. But what the bunny boy ate will take too long to tell.
“The next time you pass the Old Bramble Patch I’ll ask Uncle Lucky to take us sledmobiling,” he said, buckling on his knapsack.
“Hurray!” shouted the little mink, tickled almost to pieces. He’d never ridden in a sledmobile and neither have I, and neither have you, but we may some day if we happen to be around when Uncle Lucky passes by.
“The snow is nearly three feet deep
Upon the forest trail,
And windy rifts and hilly drifts