e hill-top, he rapidly led the way to
the fringe of the covert, where he pointed to a low hedge-bank between
the gorse and a peat-field partly covered with water. "Hide in the hedge
about ten yards from this spot," he said, "so that you can see on
either side of the bank, then watch the path on this side." With a smile
he added: "This isn't a bad locality for a fern-owl. So, if you happen
to hear the rattle of that bird, you'll know the hare has started from
her 'form.'" Then, turning quickly into the furze and taking a bypath
through the thickest part of the tangle, Philip left me, and, soon
afterwards, I moved to my allotted hiding place.

Before I had waited long, the cry of the fern-owl reached me with
astonishing clearness from an adjoining field. Presently, I saw a hare
emerge from the gorse and come along the path towards me. At the exact
spot indicated by the poacher, she paused, and then with a single bound
cleared the wide space between herself and the hedge. With another bound
she landed on the marsh beyond, where she splattered away through the
shallow water till a dry reed-bed was reached on a slight elevation in
the marsh. There she was lost to view; the rank herbage screened her
further line of flight.

A minute afterwards, the fern owl's rattle once more broke on the quiet
evening, now from a few fields away to my right. For some time, I
closely watched the open space around the hedge-bank, but no animal
moved on the path. Suddenly, however, I thought I detected a slight
movement in a bracken frond beside the furze. It was not repeated, and I
had concluded that it signified nothing, when, to my amazement, I caught
sight of a second hare squatting in the middle of the path near the
bracken. How she came there I was unable to understand; for some time my
eyes had been directed towards the spot, and certainly I had not seen
her leave the ferns. She seemed to have risen from the earth--something
intangible that had instantly assumed the shape of a living creature.
She took a few strides towards my hiding place, but, exactly where the
first hare had leaped, she turned sharply at right angles to the path,
and with a long, easy bound sprang to the top of the hedge-bank; then
with another bound she flung herself into the marshy field. Making
straight for the reed-bed, she, too, was soon out of sight.

All that thus happened appeared to be the outcome of long experience;
the adoption by the hares of a more perf