Numbers of hares live all the summer in the cornfields. But while many
rabbits are born in the corn, when there is a wood at hand most of them
retire by day, returning to the corn to feed at night. No rabbit, in
sleekness of fur, is comparable to the rabbit that has lived for a few
fine weeks among the corn-stems, for the constant brushing of the stems
grooms his coat to a state of wonderful fineness. At any moment rabbits
in the corn may meet death from the teeth of stoats or weasels; which
in turn run a risk, if a slight one, from the fox's teeth; there are
plenty of mole-runs into which they may dive in times of danger. In
dry weather, the hedgehogs leave the ditches for the corn; and the
cornfield, in real summer weather, when there are no foxes about, is
a paradise for pheasants and partridges. The gamekeeper, whatever the
weather, clings to the faith that the corn hides most of his birds from
his sight. There is comfort in the thought that if the birds live he
will see them, but if they are killed, nothing will ever tell him the
story of his losses.
Man ploughs and sows, but for every man who eats the bread of the
fields a million other mouths have been fed. There is no such perfect
sanctuary to wild life as a field of corn. What the corn hides nobody
knows; though many would gladly know, and seek eagerly to find. The
gamekeeper guesses shrewdly what the corn may hide; later he will find
what has been hidden, and it is as well for his peace of mind that he
can only speculate, at this season, on the game in the field, for he is
powerless to interfere. The community of the cornfield is almost safe
from man, while the corn stands. If any creature moves in the corn, the
stems, bowing to the breeze, cover its progress.
* * * * *