The Story of a HareTregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
General
The Story of a Hare
Tregarthen, J. C. (John Coulson)
Hares -- Fiction
The vixen seemed loath to leave the spot; but at length she quitted it
for the summit, where she searched the fallen stones and scaled the
crumbled walls, her form clearly outlined against the sky now tinted
with orange by the coming day. On the stone lintel she presently came to
a stand, arrested by the sight of the sun which peeped above the eastern
hills and warned her that it was time to be seeking her earth. Reluctant
as she was to obey, she dropped to the ground and made her way slowly
down the shadowed slope. Half-way in the descent she suddenly turned her
mask and scrutinised the ground in the hope of catching the hare with
head raised watching her retreat; but bush, rock, and frond alone met
her roving eyes. Near the Giant’s Bowl she again looked back, and by the
expression on her face, now vindictive rather than perplexed, seemed to
say: “Wily one, you’ve beaten me this dawn, but I’ll lick my chops over
you yet, both you and your tender young ones.” Then, the rumble of
wheels urging her, she hurried away, her beautiful coat all aripple
with the play of her lissom limbs. As soon as she had crossed the wall,
the hare, who had observed her from behind the blades, resumed the
suckling of her frightened young, fondling them as she had never done
before.
It had been a narrow escape, and the hare was now all impatience to
forsake the hill. But that could not be before nightfall, so she and the
leverets spent the long day unnerved by the rank scent left by the fox
on the herbage. The slow sun at last sank beneath the sea. At once the
hare took the doe leveret in her mouth and carried it along the southern
flank of the chain for more than a mile to the foot of Bartinney, where
she laid it in a patch of bracken bordering a little green. The next
moment she was on her way back at her best pace, as though she dreaded
that the vixen might forestall her. But no enemy was to be seen: the
jack was as she had left him. Seizing him by the skin of the neck she
bore him rapidly along despite his kicking, crouching whilst two stoats
passed, dropping him thrice to rest herself, and finally depositing him
in a clump of rushes by a rill some score yards from his sister. It was
not without a reason that she laid them on opposite sides of the green,
for by thus separating them she hoped that at least one might escape
detection in the event of a visit from an enemy.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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