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meadow at this time of day. I don’t even like to think of it. Why, it’s broad daylight.”
    â€œBut it was broad daylight when we went to the meadow before,” Bambi objected.
    â€œThat’s different,” his mother explained; “it was early in the morning.”
    â€œCan we only go there early in the morning?” Bambi was very curious.
    His mother was patient. “Only in the early morning or late evening,” she said, “or at night.”
    â€œAnd never in the daytime, never?”
    His mother hesitated. “Well,” she said at last, “sometimes a few of us do go there in the daytime. . . . But those are special occasions. . . . I can’t just explain it to you, you are too young yet. . . . Some of us do go there. . . . But we are exposed to the greatest danger.”
    â€œWhat kind of danger?” asked Bambi, all attention.
    But his mother did not want to go on with the conversation. “We’re in danger, and that’s enough for you, my son. You can’t understand such things yet.”
    Bambi thought that he could understand everything except why his mother did not want to tell him the truth. But he kept silent.
    â€œThat’s what life means for us,” his mother went on. “Though we all love the daylight, especially when we’re young, we have to lie quiet all day long. We can only roam around from evening till morning. Do you understand?”
    â€œYes,” said Bambi.
    â€œSo, my son, we’ll have to stay where we are. We’re safe here. Now lie down again and go to sleep.”
    But Bambi didn’t want to lie down. “Why are we safe here?” he asked.
    â€œBecause all the bushes shield us,” his mother answered, “and the twigs snap on the shrubs and the dry twigs crackle and give us warning. And last year’s dead leaves lie on the ground and rustle to warn us, and the jays and magpies keep watch so we can tell from a distance if anybody is coming.”
    â€œWhat are last year’s leaves?” Bambi asked.
    â€œCome and sit beside me,” said his mother, “and I will tell you.” Bambi sat down contentedly, nestling close to his mother. And she told him how the trees are not always green, how the sunshine and the pleasant warmth disappear. Then it grows cold, the frost turns the leaves yellow, brown and red, and they fall slowly so that the trees and bushes stretch their bare branches to the sky and look perfectly naked. But the dry leaves lie on the ground, and when a foot stirs them they rustle. Then someone is coming. Oh, how kind last year’s dead leaves are! They do their duty so well and are so alert and watchful. Even in midsummer there are a lot of them hidden beneath the undergrowth. And they give warning in advance of every danger.
    Bambi pressed close against his mother. It was so cozy to sit there and listen while his mother talked.
    When she grew silent he began to think. He thought it was very kind of the good old leaves to keep watch, though they were all dead and frozen and had suffered so much. He wondered just what that danger could be that his mother was always talking about. But too much thought tired him. Round about him it was still. Only the air sizzling in the heat was audible. Then he fell asleep.

Chapter Four
    O NE EVENING BAMBI WAS ROAMing about the meadow again with his mother. He thought that he knew everything there was to see or hear there. But in reality it appeared that he did not know as much as he thought.
    This time was just like the first. Bambi played tag with his mother. He ran around in circles, and the open space, the deep sky, the fresh air intoxicated him so that he grew perfectly wild. After a while he noticed that his mother was standing still. He stopped short in the middle of a leap so suddenly that his four legs spread far apart. To get his balance he bounded high into the air and then