Lightfoot the Deer | Page 4

on trees
and bushes. The little rags you see are what is left, but I will soon be rid
of those. Then I shall be ready to fight if need be and will fear no one
save man, and will fear him only when he has a terrible gun with him."
Lightfoot tossed his head proudly and rattled his wonderful antlers

against the nearest tree. "Isn't he handsome," whispered Peter to Jumper
the Hare; "and did you ever hear of anything so wonderful as the
growing of those new antlers in such a short time? It is hard to believe,
but I suppose it must be true."
"It is," replied Jumper, "and I tell you, Peter, I would hate to have
Lightfoot try those antlers on me, even though I were big as a man.
You've always thought of Lightfoot as timid and afraid, but you should
see him when he is angry. Few people care to face him then."

CHAPTER IV
: The Spirit Of Fear
When the days grow cold and the nights are clear, There stalks abroad
the spirit of fear. - Lightfoot the Deer.
It is sad but true. Autumn is often called the sad time of the year, and it
is the sad time. But it shouldn't be. Old Mother Nature never intended
that it should be. She meant it to be the GLAD time. It is the time when
all the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows have
got over the cares and worries of bringing up families and teaching
their children how to look out for themselves. It is the season when
food is plentiful, and every one is fat and is, or ought to be, care free. It
is the season when Old Mother Nature intended all her little people to
be happy, to have nothing to worry them for the little time before the
coming of cold weather and the hard times which cold weather always
brings.
But instead of this, a grim, dark figure goes stalking over the Green
Meadows and through the Green Forest, and it is called the Spirit of
Fear. It peers into every hiding-place and wherever it finds one of the
little people it sends little cold chills over him, little chills which jolly,
round, bright Mr. Sun cannot chase away, though he shine his brightest.
All night as well as all day the Spirit of Fear searches out the little
people of the Green Meadows and the Green Forest. It will not let them
sleep. It will not let them eat in peace. It drives them to seek new
hiding-places and then drives them out of those. It keeps them ever
ready to fly or run at the slightest sound.
Peter Rabbit was thinking of this as he sat at the edge of the dear Old
Briar-patch, looking over to the Green Forest. The Green Forest was no

longer just green; it was of many colors, for Old Mother Nature had set
Jack Frost to painting the leaves of the maple-trees and the beech-trees,
and the birch-trees and the poplar-trees and the chestnut-trees, and he
had done his work well. Very, very lovely were the reds and yellows
and browns against the dark green of the pines and the spruces and the
hemlocks. The Purple Hills were more softly purple than at any other
season of the year. It was all very, very beautiful.
But Peter had no thought for the beauty of it all, for the Spirit of Fear
had visited even the dear Old Briar-patch, and Peter was afraid. It
wasn't fear of Reddy Fox, or Redtail the Hawk, or Hooty the Owl, or
Old Man Coyote. They were forever trying to catch him, but they did
not strike terror to his heart because he felt quite smart enough to keep
out of their clutches. To be sure, they gave him sudden frights
sometimes, when they happened to surprise him, but these frights lasted
only until he reached the nearest bramble-tangle or hollow log where
they could not get at him. But the fear that chilled his heart now never
left him even for a moment.
And Peter knew that this same fear was clutching at the hearts of Bob
White, hiding in the brown stubble; of Mrs. Grouse, squatting in the
thickest bramble-tangle in the Green Forest; of Uncle Billy Possum and
Bobby Coon in their hollow trees; of Jerry Muskrat in the Smiling Pool;
of Happy Jack Squirrel, hiding in the tree tops; of Lightfoot the Deer,
lying in the closest thicket he could find. It was even clutching at the
hearts of Granny and Reddy Fox and of great, big Buster Bear. It
seemed to Peter that no one was so big or so small that this