The hare that haunts a small holding has a slender chance of dying a
natural death in ripe old age. But we have a little story of how a
small-holder was converted from hare-shooting. He was a man who rented
a meadow on the outskirts of a large village; and it chanced that
hares were much attracted to this pleasant spot. The gamekeeper of
the shooting tenant was deeply troubled by the drain on his stock of
hares caused by the small-holder; but there was little he could do to
stop the slaughter that went on at all times and seasons, and by all
manner of means. He had the good sense to keep on friendly terms with
the troublesome sportsman, and at last he thought that some improvement
might be brought about by arranging a laugh at his expense. He stuffed
a hare, and one night set up the skin in the meadow, at a fair range
from a gap in the hedge. Early next morning the news reached the
small-holder that there was a hare in his field. Off he started with
gun and dog; saw from the gap that the hare was sitting up, "jest about
a pretty little shot," took steady aim, and fired both barrels to make
sure of a kill. How his dog retrieved a hare-skin stuffed with hay
was a story that soon became public property in the village and the
neighbourhood, and from that day forward there has been no safer place
for a hare than this man's meadow.
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