OLD MEMORIES 81 



the hill down to the very verge of the farm, 

 where all was grey and sombre save the bright 

 gold of the sycamore by the dairy window. 



Presently the farmer crossed the yard to 

 the shed for the oxen and drove them along 

 the lane to the half-ploughed field, followed by 

 the watchful gulls, which came flying in from 

 the cliffs in such numbers that the long furrow 

 in the wake of the plough was soon white with 

 their forms. 



The hare was an interested spectator of all 

 this movement ; indeed everything that moved 

 claimed his notice ; not a leaf of the sycamore 

 fell but it caught his eye. Stirred by associa- 

 tion, old memories, too, came flocking back ; 

 once more he was a tiny leveret listening to 

 the whispered monition of his mother, ''Sit still, 

 dears, till I come back " ; once more he was 

 sitting beside his little sister hearkening to 

 the voices of the night that always died away 

 before the footfall of their mother broke the silence 

 of the dawn and set their hearts aflutter with 

 delight. Then, though he strove to repress all 

 sinister recollections, he rehearsed the visit of 

 the vixen ; a glint of the pool on the distant 

 moor called up the horrors of the previous 

 day. 



But the most trifling incident diverted his 



