He didn’t like to be reminded of last summer. He had had a difficult time of it since then. At first, after his mother’s disappearance, he had felt quite lost. The long winter was interminable. Spring came hesitatingly and it was late before things began to turn green. Without old Nettla Bambi might not even have pulled through at all, but she looked after him and helped him where she could. In spite of that he was alone a good deal.
He missed Gobo at every turn; poor Gobo, who was dead too, like the rest of them. Bambi thought of him often during that winter, and for the first time he really began to appreciate how good and lovable Gobo had been.
He seldom saw Faline. She stayed with her mother most of the time, and seemed to have grown unusually shy. Later when it had finally grown warm Bambi began to feel his old self once more. He flourished his first antler on high and was very proud of it. But bitter disappointment soon followed.
The other bucks chased him whenever they saw him. They drove him away angrily. They would not let him come near them until finally he was afraid to take a step for fear of being caught. He was afraid to show himself anywhere and slunk along hidden trails in a very downcast frame of mind.
As the summer days grew warmer a remarkable restlessness seized him. His heart felt more and more oppressed with a sense of longing that was both pleasant and painful. Whenever he chanced to see Faline or one of her friends, though only at a distance, a rush of incomprehensible excitement crept over him. Often it happened that he recognized her track, or the air he snuffed told him she was near. Then he would feel himself irresistibly drawn towards her. But when he gave way to his desire he always came to grief. Either he met no one and, after wandering around for a long while, had to admit that they were avoiding him, or he ran across one of the bucks who immediately sprang at him, beat and kicked him and chased him disgracefully away. Ronno and Karus had treated him worst of all. No, that hadn’t been a happy time.
And now the squirrel had stupidly reminded him of it. Suddenly he became quite wild and started to run. The titmice and hedge sparrows flitted, frightened, through the bushes as he passed, and asked each other in a fluster, “What was that?” Bambi did not hear them. A couple of magpies chattered nervously, “What happened?” The jay cried angrily, “What is the matter with you?” Bambi paid no attention to him. Overhead the yellowbird sang from tree to tree, “Good morning, I’m ha‑appy.” Bambi did not answer. The thicket was very bright and shot through with sunbeams. Bambi did not stop to think about such things.
Suddenly there was a loud whir of wings. A whole rainbow of gorgeous colors flashed from under Bambi’s very feet and shone so close to his eyes that he stopped, dazzled. It was Jonello, the pheasant. He had flown up in terror, for Bambi had nearly stepped on him. He fled away scolding.
“I never heard of such a thing,” he cried in his split, cackling voice. Bambi stood still in astonishment and stared after him.
“It turned out all right this time, but it really was inconsiderate,” said a soft, twittering voice close to the ground. It was Jonellina, the pheasant’s wife. She was sitting on the ground, hovering over her eggs. “My husband was terribly frightened,” she went on in an irritable tone. “And so was I. But I don’t dare stir from this spot. I wouldn’t stir from this spot no matter what happened. You could step on me and I wouldn’t move.”
Bambi was a little embarrassed. “I beg your pardon,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean to do it.”
“O, not at all,” the pheasant’s wife replied. “It was nothing so dreadful after all. But my husband and I are so nervous at present. You can understand why. …”
Bambi didn’t understand why at all and went on. He was quieter now. The forest sang around him. The light grew more radiant and warmer. The leaves on the bushes, the grass underfoot and the moist, steaming earth began to smell more sweetly. Bambi’s young strength swelled within him and streamed through all his limbs so that he walked around stiffly with awkward restrained movements like a mechanical thing.
He went up to a low alder shrub and, lifting his feet high, beat on the earth with such savage blows that the dirt flew. His two sharp-pointed hoofs cut the turf that grew there. They scraped away the wood-vetch and leeks, the violets and snowbells, till the bare earth was furrowed in front of him. Every blow sounded dully.
Two moles, who were grubbing among the tangled roots of an old sycamore tree, grew anxious and, looking out, saw Bambi.
“That’s a ridiculous way to do things,” said one mole. “Who ever heard of anybody digging that way?”
The other mole drew down one corner of his mouth in a scornful sneer. “He doesn’t know anything, you can see that right off,” he said. “But that’s the way it is when people meddle with things they know nothing about.”
Suddenly Bambi listened, tossed up his head, listened again, and peered through the leaves. A flash of red showed through the branches. The prongs of an antler gleamed indistinctly. Bambi snorted. Whoever it might be who was circling around him, whether it was Karus or somebody else, didn’t matter. “Forward!” thought Bambi as he charged. “I’ll show them that I’m not afraid of them,” he thought as though suddenly exultant. “I’ll show them that they’d better look out for me.”
The branches rustled with the fury of his charge, the bushes cracked and broke. Then Bambi saw the other deer right in front of him. He did
