see it clearly

Old Roughleg's Eyes Are Fooled

By Thornton W. Burgess

Old Roughleg the Hawk sat on the topmost branch of a tall, dead maple tree in the middle of the Green Meadows. As far as he could see the world was white, and old Roughleg can see a great distance for his eyes are very sharp. Rough Brother North Wind whooped and shouted across the Green Meadows and through the Green Forest. He snapped off the branches of trees just to show how strong he is, and caught up great handfuls of snow and tossed it in the air and blew it before him with icy breath.

But old Roughleg the Hawk minded him not at all, for he is fierce and strong himself and fears nothing but the dreadful gun of Farmer Brown's boy. So he sat on the top of the dead maple tree without moving. So still he sat that he seemed a part of the old dead tree itself, but his wonderful, keen eyes never blinked and they never ceased watching the smooth, white blanket that covered the Green Meadows. So sharp were they that it seemed to Danny Meadow Mouse in his warm nest of grass down underneath the snow that they could see right through the snow itself and he shivered at the thought and decided not to take his usual morning exercise in the little tunnels he had made through the snow. You see he had peeped out very early that morning and had seen old Roughleg when he came to the dead maple tree, and he knew just what old Roughleg was sitting there so still for. He was waiting for his breakfast.

Yes, Sir, that is just what old Roughleg was doing -- waiting for his breakfast. He was hungry, was old Roughleg, and the longer he waited the hungrier he grew. But long ago when he was young he had learned to be patient. He had learned that so long as he sat perfectly still, careless little meadow people were apt not to notice him at all, or if they did they soon forgot all about him and would show themselves and then -- why old Roughleg never went hungry for very long.

But this morning he had made up his mind for a particularly good breakfast. He would have Hare -- Jumper the Hare. For days and days he had watched Jumper hopping about safe in the protection of the dear Old Brier Patch. He knew that Jumper often roamed abroad at night and that usually he came back to the Old Brier Patch before daylight. But this morning Jumper was not yet back. Old Roughleg was sure of it for his sharp eyes had looked through and through the Old Brier Patch and Jumper was not in any of the places where he usually sat. So old Roughleg chuckled to himself and snapped his cruel hooked beak, which is his way of smacking his lips, and waited and waited.

But the longer he waited the hungrier he grew and the harder it was to be patient. Out on the meadows was a little mound of white, a funny little mound. He wondered what could have made it. "Must be a little bush underneath the snow," thought old Roughleg. By and by he could stand that hungry feeling no longer. "It's of no use," he muttered. "It must be that that Jumper isn't out this morning and I shall have to go hunting for my breakfast, after all."

So he spread his broad wings and sailed out over the meadows, right over that little mound of white, at which he looked sharply as he passed, and finally way out of sight beyond the Green Forest. No sooner was he out of sight than the queer little white mound came to life and stretched.

"My, I though he never would go!" said Jumper the Hare, and scampered over to the Old Brier Patch where he settled himself for a nap. "This white coat of mine is pretty nice; it fooled the sharp eyes of old Roughleg that time!" he murmured sleepily.