“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 mouth open and its tongue hanging out, and to be wagging a big tail like the fox’s, only black and more ragged.

As I watched, up got the old hen partridge and one of her young ones and flew towards me.  The Red-faced Man lifted his gun and fired, once, twice, and down came first the mother partridge and then the young one.  I forgot to say that Tom fired too at the old partridge, which fell dead quite close to me, leaving a lot of feathers floating in the air.  As it fell Tom screeched out—­

“I killed that, father.”

This made the Red-faced Man very angry.

“You young scoundrel,” he said, “how often have I told you not to shoot at my birds under my nose?  No sportsman shoots at another man’s birds, and as for killing it, you were yards under the thing.  If you do it again I will send you home.”

“Sorry, father,” said Tom, adding in a low voice with a snigger, “I did kill it after all.  Dad thinks no one can hit a partridge except himself.”

Just then up jumped my father near to Giles, and came leaping in front of the Red-faced Man about twenty yards away from him.

“Mark hare!” shouted Giles, and Grampus, who was still glowering at Tom and had not quite finished pushing the cartridges into his gun, shut it up in a hurry and fired first one barrel and then the other.  But my father, who was very cunning, jumped into the air at the first shot and ducked at the second, so that he was missed; at least I suppose that is why he was missed.

Giles grinned and the Red-faced Man said, “Damn!” What does ‘damn’ mean, Mahatma?  It was a very favourite word with the Red-faced Man, but even now I can’t quite understand it.”

“Nor can I,” I answered.  “Go on.”

“Well, my poor father next ran in front of Tom, who shot too and hit him in the hind legs so that he rolled over and over in the turnips, kicking and screaming.  Have you ever heard a hare scream, Mahatma?”

“Yes, yes, it makes a horrid noise like a baby.”

“Wiped your eye that time, Dad,” cried Tom in an exultant voice.