You can imagine how grateful Fuzzy Wuzz was to Bumper for saving her from Killer the Snake! Not only that, but she was mightily impressed by his wisdom. Who but a king would have thought of gnawing off the butt of the tree so it would fall on Killer!

She was so grateful that she told the story again and again to her people, and they seemed as greatly impressed as Fuzzy Wuzz at Bumper’s shrewdness. But Spotted Tail was not pleased. Perhaps he was still suspicious, and thought it was more luck than knowledge that had saved Bumper’s reputation. He still believed that Bumper had never seen a hornet’s nest until that day he innocently mistook Mr. Yellow Jacket’s home for a big, harmless ball.

This fact, coupled with several other little things that he had observed, Bumper’s avoidance of certain plants, for instance, that he seemed to think might be poisonous until the others ate 31them, convinced him that Bumper was not fit to be the leader of his people.

“If Old Blind Rabbit could see with his eyes,” he reasoned, “he’d know, too. But some day I’ll catch him, and show him up. He’s no king, for a king should know everything.”

By letting such things dwell upon his mind, Spotted Tail worked himself up into a pitch of excitement that was not pleasant. He fancied himself wronged by Bumper. If the white rabbit hadn’t come into the woods, Spotted Tail would have been chosen the natural leader.

Jealousy and spite are enough to sour any disposition, and Spotted Tail was in a fair way of showing that he was not really fitted to be a leader. A good leader never grows sullen and discontented because somebody else happens to get more favors than he. Fuzzy Wuzz’s attachment to Bumper further increased Spotted Tail’s displeasure. In time he came almost to hating Bumper, and tried to think of ways and means to disgrace him before the others.

Bumper was only partly conscious of this feeling toward him. He knew that Spotted Tail was suspicious of his knowledge of wood lore, and he was on his guard all the time to prevent any mistake that would give him away. But he never dreamed that the big rabbit was beginning to dislike 32him. He seldom hunted with him, and had few words with him, but there had been no open enmity between them.

Then one day in the woods Bumper found himself unexpectedly separated from the others, with only Spotted Tail in view. Fuzzy Wuzz and the rest had crossed the brook on a natural rustic bridge of logs, and were feeding on the opposite side when Bumper discovered them.

“Hello!” he exclaimed. “How’d they get across there? Surely, they didn’t jump that distance.”

Spotted Tail, to whom this was addressed, replied:

“You should know by this time that a rabbit never jumps a stream that he can get across any other way.”

Bumper nodded and smiled. “Still, I don’t see how else they got across.”

Spotted Tail said indifferently:

“Oh, I suppose they crossed on Mr. Beaver’s house.”

This remark caused Bumper to reflect. He had heard of Mr. Beaver, but he wasn’t sure just what kind of an animal he was. And his house was more of a mystery to him than anything else.

“On Mr. Beaver’s house?” he asked, before thinking. “Oh, you mean—”

33He stopped in confusion, and Spotted Tail smiled gleefully.

“You mean what?” he asked, his eyes twinkling wickedly. “Don’t you know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds?”

“Why, what a question?” laughed Bumper, trying to evade a direct answer.

“I think it’s a very natural question,” added Spotted Tail. “I don’t believe you ever saw Mr. Beaver or his house.”

Bumper laughed heartily at this, but it was a laugh to conceal his embarrassment and not an expression of his enjoyment.

“Ho! Ho! You can be very comical if you want to!” he said. “Now maybe you can describe what sort of a house Mr. Beaver builds. Let me see if you can.”

But Spotted Tail felt he had Bumper in a corner, and he wasn’t to be bluffed. “I could describe it,” he said, leering, “but I don’t have to. If you have any eyes in your head you can see for yourself what it is like.”

“How’s that?” asked Bumper, growing more uncomfortable.

“Just what I said,” was the quick rejoinder. “We’ve been standing near it for some time, and you can see it with your own eyes—if you know where to look for it.”

34“Oh! Ho!” laughed Bumper, less joyously than before. “Mr. Beaver’s house is in plain sight, is it? Well, then, neither one of us will have to describe it.”

“No, but where is it?” pursued Spotted Tail relentlessly.

Now Bumper was in a terrible quandary. There was nothing in view that looked like a house. So he cast a glance up at the trees, hoping to find it among the branches, and then back through the thick, tangled bushes. There was nothing in sight that suggested the home of any animal.

All the time his eyes were searching around for some evidence of Mr. Beaver’s house, Spotted Tail was watching him with an exultant grin on his face.

“Ah! I thought so,” he said finally, with a triumphant grin on his face. “You don’t know what kind of a house Mr. Beaver builds. You don’t even know where he builds it. You’ve been looking for it up among the trees, and back in the woods. Ho! Ho! And you call yourself a leader—the king of the rabbits! Why, you don’t know anything about the woods.”

Bumper felt he was cornered, and he was mighty glad the others were not present to witness his discomfit.

35“Now, if you’re king, show me where Mr. Beaver’s house is, and where he builds it!” continued Spotted Tail. “If you can’t I’ll go back and tell all the others you’re an ignorant impostor. You’re no king! You don’t know anything about the woods or its people. A king indeed!”

There was such scorn and contempt in the voice that Bumper winced. He realized for the first time that he had an enemy in Spotted Tail. There was no other excuse for his words and actions.

“Spotted Tail,” Bumper began in an injured voice, “why do you dislike me, and try to offend me?”

“Don’t give me any such talk,” rudely interrupted the other. “I see through it all. You’re trying to avoid the question. Answer me! Where’s Mr. Beaver’s house? If you don’t know, confess your ignorance.”

Bumper’s wits failed him for the first time. He saw no way out of the corner. Spotted Tail had him, and the disgrace of confession was horribly mortifying.

A sudden splash in the water attracted his attention. A big rat-like animal was swimming toward the shore, with only his head and muzzle above the surface. Bumper watched him in fascination. 36When he reached the shore, he crawled upon it, and said quite angrily:

“I wish, Mr. Spotted Tail, your people would stop crawling across the roof of my house. It annoys me very much. I was fast asleep when they thumped over it.”

Spotted Tail was deeply upset by this interruption, and Bumper’s wits, coming to his rescue, made him smile. Speaking at a venture, he addressed the rat-like animal.

“I’ll ask them not to do it again, Mr. Beaver. Of course, it is very annoying to be disturbed when asleep by people climbing over the roof of your house.”

“Thank you!” replied Mr. Beaver, dipping into the water and swimming back to his dam. Bumper pointed to the dam across the stream, and said to Spotted Tail: “There’s Mr. Beaver’s house.”