un went 'bang' some way off; and my sister, like a
wise hare, scuttled away at full speed for the wood. But I only made
myself smaller than usual and lay watching and listening.

There was a good deal to see and hear; for instance, a covey of
partridges, troublesome birds that come scratching and fidgeting about
when one wants to sleep, were running to and fro in a great state of
concern.

"They are after us," said the old cock.

"I remember the same thing last year. Come on, do."

"How can I with all these young ones to look after?" answered the hen.
"Why, if once they are scattered I shall never find them again."

"Just as you like, you know best," said the cock. "Goodbye," and away
he flew, while his wife and the rest ran to a little distance, scattered
and squatted.

Presently, looking back over my shoulders without turning my head, as
a hare can, I saw a line of men walking towards me. There was the
Red-faced Man whom Giles called Grampus behind his back and Squire to
his face. There was Giles himself, with his hurt hand tied up, holding a
kind of stick with a slit in it from which hung a lot of dead partridges
whose necks were in the slit. One of them was not dead or had come to
life again, for it flapped in the stick trying to fly away. He held
these in the hand that was tied up, and in the other, oh, horror! was a
dead hare bleeding from its nose. It looked uncommonly like my mother,
but whether it were or no I couldn't be quite sure. At least from that
day neither my sister nor I ever saw her again. I suppose you haven't
met her coming up this big white Road, have you, Mahatma?

"No, no," I answered impatiently, "I have already told you that you are
the first hare I have ever seen upon the Road. Please get on with your
story, or the Lights will change and the Gates be opened before I hear
its end."

Just when I saw her I was thinking of running away, but the sight
terrified me so much that I could not stir. You see, Mahatma, I really
loved my mother as much as a hare can love anything, which is a good
deal.

Well, beyond Giles was, who do you think? That dreadful boy, Tom, with a
gun in his hand too. Did I say that they all had guns, except Giles and
some beater men, only that Tom's was single-barrelled? Then there were
others whom I need not describe, stretching to left and right, and worst
of all, perhaps, there was Giles's great black dog, a silly-looking
beast which always seemed to have its mout