it seemed to see me. At any rate it sat up in the alert
fashion that hares have, its forepaws hanging absurdly in front of it,
with one ear, on which there was a grey blotch, cocked and one dragging,
and sniffed with its funny little nostrils. Then it began to talk to me.
I do not mean that it really talked, but the thoughts which were in its
mind were flashed on to my mind so that I understood perfectly, yes, and
could answer them in the same fashion. It said, or thought, thus:--

"You are real. You are a man who yet lives beneath the sun, though how
you came here I do not know. I hate men, all hares do, for men are cruel
to them. Still it is a comfort in this strange place to see something
one has seen before and to be able to talk even to a man, which I could
never do until the change came, the dreadful change--I mean because of
the way of it," and it seemed to shiver. "May I ask you some questions?"

"Certainly," I said or rather thought back.

"You are sure that they won't make you angry so that you hurt me?"

"I can't hurt you, even if I wished to do so. You are not a hare any
longer, if you ever were one, but only the shadow of a hare."

"Ah! I thought as much, and that's a good thing anyhow. Tell me, Man,
have you ever been torn to pieces by dogs?"

"Good gracious! no."

"Or coursed, or hunted, or caught in a trap, or shot all over your back,
or twisted up in nets and choked in snares? Or have you swum out to sea
to die more easily, or seen your mate and mother and father killed?"

"No, no. Please stop, Hare; your questions are very unpleasant."

"Not half so unpleasant as the things are themselves, I can assure
you, Man. I will tell you my story if you like; then you can judge for
yourself. But first, if you will, do you tell me why I am here. Have you
seen more hares about this place?"

"Never, nor any other animals. No, I am wrong, once I saw a dog."

The Hare looked about it anxiously.

"A dog. How horrible! What was it doing? Hunting? If there are no hares
here what could it be hunting? A rabbit, or a pheasant with a broken
wing, or perhaps a fox? I should not mind so much if it were a fox. I
hate foxes; they catch young hares when they are asleep and eat them."

"None of these things. I was told that it belonged to a little girl who
died. That broke its heart, so that it died also when they shut her up
in a box. Therefore it was allowed to accompany her here because it had
loved so much. Inde