The Story of a HareTregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
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The Story of a Hare
Tregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
Hares -- Fiction
Intent on their quarry, the weasels gave no heed, but the owl looked out
of its hole to learn what ailed its exemplary neighbour, and the marten
peered over the edge of the nest to ascertain, if possible, the cause of
the disturbance. She saw nothing of rabbit or weasels, for the trees hid
them from sight, but she had an uninterrupted view of the hare, and at
once was all excitement at the prospect of an unexpected feast. Though
she had tasted hare once and only once, the memory of the delicious
flavour remained, and she had often longed to taste it again. So eager
was she that she could not take her eyes from off this unlooked-for
prize; even the death-squeal of the rabbit which presently rent the air
did not distract her gaze. After a while she lay down again, but not to
sleep. She spent the rest of the day planning the capture of the hare,
interrupting her deliberations only to rise every now and then to assure
herself that the quarry was still below.
Far different had been the effect of that despairing cry on the hare. It
left him disquieted and unnerved, with but one desire, to get away at
the earliest possible moment from the wood and the murderer up above
whom he had surprised in the act of looking down at him. Short as the
day was, he thought that it would never end; and the moment the sun
dipped below the plain he stole away noiselessly as a ghost, ascended
the opposite hill, made along the high ridge, passed the earthworks,
crossed the old camp on Bartinney and came to the chantry, where he
stood awhile with his face towards the sunset. He seemed to be watching
the expiring effort of day, but he was really considering where he
should forage, above all where he should sit, on the morrow. He had no
wish to sit on the hill; he wanted to get farther away from the wood
than that; farther from its horrid association with blood. He thought of
the island; he thought of a place that had once taken his fancy on the
cliffs; he thought of Sennen Dunes, and in the end decided to seek a
form there. The moment he had made up his mind he glanced along his
trail, and, descending the hill, set out across the lowland.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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