AFTERNOON WITH THE RABBITS. 121 



easily overcome by the surrounding evidence 

 of the damage they had wrought for the 

 farmer. I vow I had not fired a gun for 

 forty years. Venator handed me his breech- 

 loader. Without a licence, I boldly seized 

 the weapon. I felt that sort of trepidation 

 which is said to creep through the nerves of 

 an African hunter within range of a lion on 

 his path, as I breathlessly watched that little 

 rabbit hole. 



Joyce was sitting at a distance, a dog 

 under each arm, and for fear of accident 

 Venator stood close behind me. For ten 

 long minutes we all intently watched. Spot 

 and Vick, with eager eyes and ears pointing 

 forward, could scarcely be restrained. I was 

 outwardly calm and firm as a rock, while in- 

 wardly I trembled like a leaf moved by the 

 breeze. I knew not what might happen. 

 Suppose by some strange twist I should shoot 

 Joyce, or Venator, or the dogs, or myself! 

 I conjured up all manner of terrible pos- 

 sibilities, or I thought of what had chanced 

 to many a wild sportsman before me. I was 

 just trying to decide how I should act sup- 

 posing the rabbit were to run between the 

 legs of the mistress's favourite old Alder- 

 ney cow, which was quietly browsing not far 

 away, when all of a sudden out comes poor 



