The Story of a HareTregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
General
The Story of a Hare
Tregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
Hares -- Fiction
After looking round to see that he was not observed, he entered the pool
and made straight for a rock where he meant to land before attempting to
gain his goal, which lay just beyond it. But the water was soon so deep
that at every step he dreaded finding himself out of his depth.
Nevertheless, he was able to keep touch of the bottom until within some
ten yards of the rock: there suddenly he had to rear on his hind legs to
prevent his shoulders from being submerged. Most hares in this situation
would have wheeled round and made for shore; but the jack was not so
easily thwarted. A difficult situation called forth his resource: before
you could count three, so quick was he to act, he was advancing on his
hind legs over the rough bed, and he actually succeeded in gaining the
rock without wetting more than a few inches of his coat. He stood a
moment on the rock to shake the water from his chest and belly, then
examined the strait between him and the island. It was far too deep to
bottom, apparently far too wide to cross by a standing leap. But he
meant to try. The worst that could befall him was a good drenching and
the consequent abandonment of his plan. Twice he gathered himself to
spring; as often he drew back; he was not satisfied with the hold of his
front feet. A third time he gathered his strong hind limbs well under
him, got a firm grip of the rock with his fore pads, launched himself
with all the force he was capable of, and landed high and dry with a few
inches to spare. After surveying his refuge, he leapt to the spot he had
selected for his seat, and squatting close to the ground with his ears
pressed close on his back, was indistinguishable from his surroundings.
The sudden disappearance of the animal which an instant before had been
so very conspicuous was little short of magical; even when the sun rose
it was difficult to pick him out, so happily did his colouring blend
with the russet of the fern and the gold and grey of the lichens. One
thing alone betrayed him, his eyes: they were wide open, maintaining
their unbroken watch. For months they had kept vigil on cornfield,
pasturage, and the enclosing hedges; now they scanned a waste of sullen
mere and barren moor without sign of life save a wheatear flitting from
stack to stack of the turf that dotted the heathery ground.
A harmless intruder was this frail bird; equally harmless the seagulls
which came almost daily to drink and bathe and preen their plumage. At
times the islet was ringed with their elegant forms: they might have
been taken for the bodyguard of the hare, if there had been anything to
suggest danger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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