The man of experience, who knows his rabbits, does not unduly exert
himself. Taking things calmly, he may catch more rabbits than others
who are better runners but more excitable. He knows that the great
thing is to stand still, rather waiting for the rabbits to come to
him than going after them. As a binder works round a field, he moves
quietly in the opposite way; then, catching sight of a rabbit crouching
beneath a piece of knapweed, some tangled bindweed, or a thistle, his
upraised stick falls with certain aim, and instantly he puts into
force the rustic law of possession. Or, moving quietly along, he will
hold in his right hand a heavy stone, while several others are held
in the other hand behind his back; when he sees a rabbit far within
the corn, his stones fly with crushing force, and the rabbit's day is
done. Sometimes towards the finish of the cutting he will take up his
position far from the frenzied throng around the binder, at some quiet
spot at the edge of the haven wood; here, watching the rabbits that
have escaped the sticks and stones of the main body, he tries to turn
them as they run the last few yards of their course. If he succeeds,
the rabbit, already worn by a long run, makes a last desperate spurt,
but can go no more than a few score yards. Should the rabbit run past
him, its course unchecked by his frantic yells and flourishes, he
troubles himself no further, and saves his breath.