And there, creeping along swiftly and silently, in the very track of the poor rabbit, was a large weasel.
They all watched it with bated breath.
Nearer and nearer the weasel got to the place where the rabbit had fled, and presently it, too, went out of sight.
"Oh! I do hope poor bunny is safe now," cried Freda.
But alas, just then a loud scream rang through the wood, and they knew then that at last the weasel had caught the rabbit.
Uncle Jim then waded across the river, and went into the wood to see if he could find the weasel, but he came back without being able to do so.
"But how could a small weasel kill a large rabbit?" asked Max.
"Well, you see," said Uncle Jim, "when a weasel hunts a rabbit, the rabbit is so much afraid that it loses all its strength, so that it is unable to run fast and get to a place of safety."