Tales From Watership Down Part 12

"An idea we found on the way," said Bigwig.

"Lying in a field," said Bluebell. "It's all right, master, I'll be quiet while you're speaking."

"Yes, you must," said Holly. "Soon no one will want jokes."

Almost all the rabbits had followed them down. The Honeycomb, though big enough for everybody, was not so airy as the great burrow and on this June evening it seemed somewhat close.

"We can easily make it cooler, you know," said Strawberry to Hazel. "In the great burrow they used to open tunnels for the summer and close them for the winter. We can dig another run on the evening side tomorrow and pick up the breeze."

Hazel was just going to ask Holly to begin when Speedwell came down the eastern run. "Hazel," he said, "your--er--visitor--your mouse. He wants to speak to you."

"Oh, I'd forgotten him," said Hazel. "Where is he?"

"Up the run."

Hazel went up. The mouse was waiting at the top.

"You go now?" said Hazel. "You think safe?"

"Go now," said the mouse. "No wait owl. But a what I like a say. You 'elp a mouse. One time a mouse 'elp a you. You want 'im 'e come."

"Frith in a pond!" muttered Bigwig, further down the run. "And so will all his brothers and sisters. I dare say the place'll be crawling. Why don't you ask them to dig us a burrow or two, Hazel?"

Hazel watched the mouse make off into the long gra.s.s. Then he returned to the Honeycomb and settled down near Holly, who had just begun to speak.

21."For El-ahrairah to Cry"

Love the animals. G.o.d has given them the rudiments of thought and joy untroubled. Don't trouble it, don't hara.s.s them, don't deprive them of their happiness, don't work against G.o.d's intent.

Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov The Brothers Karamazov Acts of injustice done Between the setting and the rising sun In history lie like bones, each one.

W.H. Auden, The Ascent of F.6 The Ascent of F.6 "The night you left the warren, the Owsla were turned out to look for you. How long ago it seems now! We followed your scent down to the brook, but when we told the Threarah that you appeared to have set off downstream, he said there was no point in risking lives by following you. If you were gone, you were gone. But anyone who came back was to be arrested. So then I called off the search.

"Nothing unusual happened the next day. There was a certain amount of talk about Fiver and the rabbits who'd gone with him. Everyone knew that Fiver had said that something bad was going to happen and all sorts of rumors started. A lot of rabbits said there was nothing in it, but some thought that Fiver might have foreseen men with guns and ferrets. That was the worst thing anyone could think of--that or the white blindness.

"Willow and I talked things over with the Threarah. 'These rabbits,' he said, 'who claim to have the second sight--I've known one or two in my time. But it's not usually advisable to take much notice of them. For one thing, many are just plain mischievous. A weak rabbit who can't hope to get far by fighting sometimes tries to make himself important by other means and prophecy is a favorite. The curious thing is that when he turns out to be wrong, his friends seldom seem to notice, as long as he puts on a good act and keeps talking. But then again, you may get a rabbit who really has this odd power, for it does exist. He foretells a flood perhaps, or ferrets and guns. All right; so a certain number of rabbits will stop running. What's the alternative? To evacuate a warren is a tremendous business. Some refuse to go. The Chief Rabbit leaves with as many as will come. His authority is likely to be put to the most severe test and if he loses it he won't get it back in a hurry. At the best, you've got a big bunch of hlessil trailing round in the open, probably with does and kittens tacked on. Elil appear in hordes. The remedy's worse than the disease. Almost always, it's better for the warren as a whole if rabbits sit tight and do their best to dodge their dangers underground.' "

"Of course, I never sat down and thought," said Fiver. "It would take the Threarah to think all that out. I simply had the screaming horrors. Great golden Frith, I hope I never have them like that again! I shall never forget it--that and the night I spent under the yew tree. There's terrible evil in the world."

"It comes from men," said Holly. "All other elil do what they have to do and Frith moves them as he moves us. They live on the earth and they need food. Men will never rest till they've spoiled the earth and destroyed the animals. But I'd better go on with this tale of mine.

"The next day in the afternoon, it began to rain.

("Those sc.r.a.pes we dug in the bank," whispered Buckthorn to Dandelion.) "Everyone was underground, just chewing pellets or sleeping. I'd gone up for a few minutes to pa.s.s hraka. I was on the edge of the wood, quite near the ditch, when I saw some men come through the gate at the top of the opposite slope, up by that board thing. I don't know how many there were--three or four, I suppose. They had long black legs and they were burning white sticks in their mouths. They didn't seem to be going anywhere. They began walking slowly about in the rain, looking at the hedges and the brook. After a time they crossed the brook and came clumping up toward the warren. Whenever they came to a rabbit hole, one of them would prod at it; and they kept talking all the time. I remember the smell of the elder bloom in the rain and the smell of the white sticks. Later, when they came closer, I slipped underground again. I could hear them for some time, thumping about and talking. I kept thinking, 'Well, they've got no guns and no ferrets.' But somehow I didn't like it."

"What did the Threarah say?" asked Silver.

"I've no idea. I didn't ask him and neither did anyone else, as far as I know. I went to sleep and when I woke there was no sound up above. It was evening and I decided to silflay. The rain had settled in, but I pottered round and fed for a while all the same. I couldn't see that anything was altered, except that here and there the mouth of a hole had been poked in.

"The next morning was clear and fine. Everyone was out for silflay as usual. I remember Nightshade told the Threarah that he ought to be careful not to tire himself now that he was getting on in years: and the Threarah said he'd show him who was getting on in years and cuffed him and pushed him down the bank. It was all quite good-humored, you know, but he did it just to show Nightshade that the Chief Rabbit was still a match for him. I was going out for lettuces that morning and for some reason or other I'd decided to go alone."

"Three's the usual number for a lettuce party," said Bigwig.

"Yes, I know three used to be the usual number, but there was some special reason why I went alone that day. Oh, yes, I remember--I wanted to see if there were any early carrots. I thought they might just be ready, and I reckoned that if I was going hunting about in a strange part of the garden I'd be better off by myself. I was out most of the morning and it can't have been long before ni-Frith when I came back through the wood. I was coming down Silent Bank--I know most rabbits preferred the Green Loose, but I nearly always went by Silent Bank. I'd got into the open part of the wood, where it comes down, toward the old fence, when I noticed a hrududu in the lane at the top of the opposite slope. It was standing at the gate by the board and a lot of men were getting out. There was a boy with them and he had a gun. They took down some big, long things--I don't know how to describe them to you--they were made of the same sort of stuff as a hrududu and they must have been heavy, because it took two men to carry one of them. The men carried these things into the field and the few rabbits who were above ground went down. I didn't. I'd seen the gun and I thought they were probably going to use ferrets and perhaps nets. So I stayed where I was and watched. I thought, 'As soon as I'm sure what they're up to, I'll go and warn the Threarah.'

"There was more talking and more white sticks. Men never hurry, do they? Then one of them got a spade and began filling in the mouths of all the holes he could find. Every hole he came to, he cut out the turf above and pushed it into the hole. That puzzled me, because with ferrets they want to drive the rabbits out. But I was expecting that they'd leave a few holes open and net them: although that would have been a foolish way to ferret, because a rabbit that went up a blocked run would be killed underground and then the man wouldn't get his ferret back very easily, you know."

"Don't make it too grim, Holly," said Hazel, for Pipkin was shuddering at the thought of the blocked run and the pursuing ferret.

"Too grim?" replied Holly bitterly. "I've hardly started yet. Would anyone like to go away?" No one moved and after a few moments he continued.

"Then another of the men fetched some long, thin, bending things. I haven't got words for all these men things, but they were something like lengths of very thick bramble. Each of the men took one and put it on one of the heavy things. There was a kind of hissing noise and--and--well, I know you must find this difficult to understand, but the air began to turn bad. For some reason I got a strong scent of this stuff that came out of the bramble things, even though I was some way off: and I couldn't see or think. I seemed to be falling. I tried to jump up and run, but I didn't know where I was and I found I'd run down to the edge of the wood, toward the men. I stopped just in time. I was bewildered and I'd lost all idea of warning the Threarah. After that I just sat where I was.

"The men put a bramble into each hole they'd left open and after that nothing happened for a little while. And then I saw Scabious--you remember Scabious? He came out of a hole along the hedge--one they hadn't noticed. I could see at once that he'd smelled this stuff. He didn't know what he was doing. The men didn't see him for a few moments and then one of them stuck out his arm to show where he was and the boy shot him. He didn't kill him--Scabious began to scream--and one of the men went over and picked him up and hit him. I really believe he may not have suffered very much, because the bad air had turned him silly: but I wish I hadn't seen it. After that, the man stopped up the hole that Scabious had come out of.

"By this time the poisoned air must have been spreading through the runs and burrows underground. I can imagine what it must have been like--"

"You can't," said Bluebell. Holly stopped and after a pause Bluebell went on.

"I heard the commotion beginning before I smelled the stuff myself. The does seemed to get it first and some of them began trying to get out. But the ones who had litters wouldn't leave the kittens and they were attacking any rabbit who came near them. They wanted to fight--to protect the kittens, you know. Very soon the runs were crammed with rabbits clawing and clambering over each other. They went up the runs they were accustomed to use and found them blocked. Some managed to turn round, but they couldn't get back because of the rabbits coming up. And then the runs began to be blocked lower down with dead rabbits and the live rabbits tore them to pieces.

"I shall never know how I got away with what I did. It was a chance in a thousand. I was in a burrow near one of the holes that the men were using. They made a lot of noise putting the bramble thing in and I've got an idea it wasn't working properly. As soon as I picked up the smell of the stuff I jumped out of the burrow, but I was still fairly clear-headed. I came up the run just as the men were taking the bramble out again. They were all looking at it and talking and they didn't see me. I turned round, actually in the mouth of the hole, and went down again.

"Do you remember the Slack Run? I suppose hardly a rabbit went down there in our lifetime--it was so very deep and it didn't lead anywhere in particular. No one knows even who made it. Frith must have guided me, for I went straight down into the Slack Run and began creeping along it. I was actually digging at times. It was all loose earth and fallen stones. There were all sorts of forgotten shafts and drops that led in from above, and down those were coming the most terrible sounds--cries for help, kittens squealing for their mothers, Owsla trying to give orders, rabbits cursing and fighting each other. Once a rabbit came tumbling down one of the shafts and his claws just scratched me, like a horse-chestnut bur falling in autumn. It was Celandine and he was dead. I had to tear at him before I could get over him--the place was so low and narrow--and then I went on. I could smell the bad air, but I was so deep down that I must have been beyond the worst of it.

"Suddenly I found there was another rabbit with me. He was the only one I met in the whole length of the Slack Run. It was Pimpernel and I could tell at once that he was in a bad way. He was spluttering and gasping, but he was able to keep going. He asked if I was all right, but all I said was, 'Where do we get out?' 'I can show you that,' he said, 'if you can help me along.' So I followed him and every time he stopped--he kept forgetting where we were--I shoved him hard. I even bit him once. I was terrified that he was going to die and block the run. At last we began to come up and I could smell fresh air. We found we'd got into one of those runs that led out into the wood."

"The men had done their work badly," resumed Holly. "Either they didn't know about the wood holes or they couldn't be bothered to come and block them. Almost every rabbit that came up in the field was shot, but I saw two get away. One was Nose-in-the-Air, but I don't remember who the other was. The noise was very frightening and I would have run myself, but I kept waiting to see whether the Threarah would come. After a while I began to realize that there were a few other rabbits in the wood. Pine Needles was there, I remember, and b.u.t.terbur and Ash. I got hold of all I could and told them to sit tight under cover.

"After a long time the men finished. They took the bramble things out of the holes and the boy put the bodies on a stick--"

Holly stopped and pressed his nose under Bigwig's flank.

"Well, never mind about that bit," said Hazel in a steady voice. "Tell us how you came away."

"Before that happened," said Holly, "a great hrududu came into the field from the lane. It wasn't the one the men came in. It was very noisy and it was yellow--as yellow as charlock: and in front there was a great silver, s.h.i.+ning thing that it held in its huge front paws. I don't know how to describe it to you. It looked like Inle, but it was broad and not so bright. And this thing--how can I tell you--it tore the field to bits. It destroyed the field."

He stopped again.

"Captain," said Silver, "we all know you've seen things bad beyond telling. But surely that's not quite what you mean?"

"Upon my life," said Holly, trembling, "it buried itself in the ground and pushed great ma.s.ses of earth in front of it until the field was destroyed. The whole place became like a cattle wade in winter and you could no longer tell where any part of the field had been, between the wood and the brook. Earth and roots and gra.s.s and bushes it pushed before it and--and other things as well, from underground.

"After a long time I went back through the wood. I'd forgotten any idea of collecting other rabbits, but there were three who joined me all the same--Bluebell here and Pimpernel and young Toadflax. Toadflax was the only member of the Owsla I'd seen and I asked him about the Threarah, but he couldn't talk any kind of sense. I never found out what happened to the Threarah. I hope he died quickly.

"Pimpernel was light-headed--chattering nonsense--and Bluebell and I weren't much better. For some reason all I could think of was Bigwig. I remembed how I'd gone to arrest him--to kill him, really--and I felt I had to find him and tell him I'd been wrong: and this idea was all the sense I had left. The four of us went wandering away and we must have gone almost in a half-circle, because after a long time we came to the brook, below what had been our field. We followed it down into a big wood; and that night, while we were still in the wood, Toadflax died. He was clear-headed for a short time before and I remember something he said. Bluebell had been saying that he knew the men hated us for raiding their crops and gardens, and Toadflax answered, 'That wasn't why they destroyed the warren. It was just because we were in their way. They killed us to suit themselves.' Soon after that he went to sleep, and a little later, when we were alarmed by some noise or other, we tried to wake him and realized he was dead.

"We left him lying where he was and went on until we reached the river. I needn't describe it because I know you were all there. It was morning by this time. We thought you might be somewhere near and we began to go along the bank, upstream, looking for you. It wasn't long before we found the place where you must have crossed. There were tracks--a great many--in the sand under a steep bank, and hraka about three days old. The tracks didn't go upstream or downstream, so I knew you must have gone over. I swam across and found more tracks on the other side: so then the others came over, too. The river was high. I suppose you must have had it easier, before all the rain.

"I didn't like the fields on the other side of the river. There was a man with a gun who kept walking everywhere. I took the other two on, across a road, and soon we came to a bad place--all heather and soft black earth. We had a hard time there, but again I came upon hraka about three days old and no sign of holes or rabbits, so I thought there was a chance that they were yours. Bluebell was all right, but Pimpernel was feverish and I was afraid he was going to die, too.

"Then we had a bit of luck--or so we thought at the time. That night we fell in with a hlessi on the edge of the heather--an old, tough rabbit with his nose all scratched and scarred--and he told us that there was a warren not far off and showed us which way to go. We came to woods and fields again, but we were so much exhausted that we couldn't start looking for the warren. We crept into a ditch and I hadn't the heart to tell one of the others to keep awake. I tried to keep awake myself, but I couldn't."

"When was this?" asked Hazel.

"The day before yesterday," said Holly, "early in the morning. When I woke it was still some time before ni-Frith. Everything was quiet and all I could smell was rabbit, but I felt at once that something was wrong. I woke Bluebell and I was just going to wake Pimpernel when I realized that there was a whole bunch of rabbits all round us. They were great, big fellows and they had a very odd smell. It was like--well, like--"

"We know what it was like," said Fiver.

"I thought you probably did. Then one of them said, 'My name's Cowslip. Who are you and what are you doing here?' I didn't like the way he spoke, but I couldn't see that they had any reason to wish us harm, so I told him that we'd had a bad time and come a long way and that we were looking for some rabbits from our warren--Hazel, Fiver and Bigwig. As soon as I said those names this rabbit turned to the others and cried, 'I knew it! Tear them to pieces!' And they all set on us. One of them got me by the ear and ripped it up before Bluebell could pull him off. We were fighting the lot of them. I was so much taken by surprise that I couldn't do a great deal at first. But the funny thing was that although they were so big and yelling for our blood, they couldn't fight at all: they obviously didn't know the first thing about fighting. Bluebell knocked down a couple twice his size, and although my ear was pouring with blood I was never really in danger. All the same, they were too many for us, and we had to run. Bluebell and I had just got clear of the ditch when we realized that Pimpernel was still there. He was ill, as I told you, and he didn't wake in time. So after all he'd been through, poor Pimpernel was killed by rabbits. What do you think of that?"

"I think it was a d.a.m.ned shame," said Strawberry, before anyone else could speak.

"We were running down the fields, beside a little stream," Holly went on. "Some of these rabbits were still chasing us and suddenly I thought, 'Well, I'll have one of them anyway.' I didn't care for the idea of doing nothing more than just run away to save our skins--not after Pimpernel. I saw that this Cowslip was ahead of the others and out on his own, so I let him catch me up and then I suddenly turned and went for him. I had him down and I was just going to rip him up when he squealed out, 'I can tell you where your friends have gone.' 'Hurry up, then,' I said, with my back legs braced in his stomach. 'They've gone to the hills,' he panted. 'The high hills you can see away over there. They went yesterday morning.' I pretended not to believe him and acted as though I was going to kill him. But he didn't alter his story, so I scratched him and let him go and away we came. It was clear weather and we could see the hills plainly enough.

"After that we had the worst time of all. If it hadn't been for Bluebell's jokes and chatter we'd have stopped running for certain."

"Hraka one end, jokes the other," said Bluebell. "I used to roll a joke along the ground and we both followed it. That was how we kept going."

"I can't really tell you much about the rest of it," said Holly. "My ear was terribly painful and all the time I kept thinking that Pimpernel's death was my fault. If I hadn't gone to sleep he wouldn't have died. Once we tried to sleep again, but my dreams were more than I could bear. I was out of my mind, really. I had only this one idea--to find Bigwig and tell him that he'd been right to leave the warren.

"At last we reached the hills, just at nightfall of the next day. We were past caring--we came over the flat, open land at owl time. I don't know what I'd been expecting. You know how you let yourself think that everything will be all right if you can only get to a certain place or do a certain thing. But when you get there you find it's not that simple. I suppose I'd had some sort of foolish notion that Bigwig would be waiting to meet us. We found the hills were enormous--bigger than anything we'd ever seen. No woods, no cover, no rabbits: and night setting in. And then everything seemed to go to pieces. I saw Scabious, as plain as gra.s.s--and heard him crying, too: and I saw the Threarah and Toadflax and Pimpernel. I tried to talk to them. I was calling Bigwig, but I didn't really expect him to hear because I was sure he wasn't there. I can remember coming out from a hedge into the open and I know I was really hoping that the elil would come and make an end of me. But when I came to my senses, there was Bigwig. My first thought was that I must be dead, but then I began to wonder whether he was real or not. Well, you know the rest. It's a pity I frightened you so much. But if I wasn't the--the Black Rabbit, there's hardly a living creature that can ever have been closer to him than we have."

After a silence, he added, "You can imagine what it means to Bluebell and me to find ourselves underground, among friends. It wasn't I who tried to arrest you, Bigwig--that was another rabbit, long, long ago."

22.The Story of the Trial of El-ahrairah

Has he not a rogue's face? ... Has a d.a.m.n'd Tyburn-face, without the benefit of the clergy.

Congreve, Love for Love Love for Love Rabbits (says Mr. Lockley) are like human beings in many ways. One of these is certainly their staunch ability to withstand disaster and to let the stream of their life carry them along, past reaches of terror and loss. They have a certain quality which it would not be accurate to describe as callousness or indifference. It is, rather, a blessedly circ.u.mscribed imagination and an intuitive feeling that Life is Now. A foraging wild creature, intent above all upon survival, is as strong as the gra.s.s. Collectively, rabbits rest secure upon Frith's promise to El-ahrairah. Hardly a full day had elapsed since Holly had come crawling in delirium to the foot of Waters.h.i.+p Down. Yet already he was near recovery, while the more light-hearted Bluebell seemed even less the worse for the dreadful catastrophe that he had survived. Hazel and his companions had suffered extremes of grief and horror during the telling of Holly's tale. Pipkin had cried and trembled piteously at the death of Scabious, and Acorn and Speedwell had been seized with convulsive choking as Bluebell told of the poisonous gas that murdered underground. Yet, as with primitive humans, the very strength and vividness of their sympathy brought with it a true release. Their feelings were not false or a.s.sumed. While the story was being told, they heard it without any of the reserve or detachment that the kindest of civilized humans retains as he reads his newspaper. To themselves, they seemed to struggle in the poisoned runs and to blaze with rage for poor Pimpernel in the ditch. This was their way of honoring the dead. The story over, the demands of their own hard, rough lives began to re-a.s.sert themselves in their hearts, in their nerves, their blood and appet.i.tes. Would that the dead were not dead! But there is gra.s.s that must be eaten, pellets that must be chewed, hraka that must be pa.s.sed, holes that must be dug, sleep that must be slept. Odysseus brings not one man to sh.o.r.e with him. Yet he sleeps sound beside Calypso and when he wakes thinks only of Penelope.

Even before Holly had finished his story, Hazel had fallen to sniffing at his wounded ear. He had not previously been able to get a good look at it, but now that he did, he realized that terror and fatigue had probably not been the princ.i.p.al causes of Holly's collapse. He was badly wounded--worse than Buckthorn. He must have lost a lot of blood. His ear was in ribbons and there was any amount of dirt in it. Hazel felt annoyed with Dandelion. As several of the rabbits began to silflay, attracted by the mild June night and the full moon, he asked Blackberry to wait. Silver, who had been about to leave by the other run, returned and joined them.

"Dandelion and the other two seem to have cheered you up, all right," said Hazel to Holly. "It's a pity they didn't clean clean you up as well. That dirt's dangerous." you up as well. That dirt's dangerous."

"Well, you see--" began Bluebell, who had remained beside Holly.

"Don't make a joke," said Hazel. "You seem to think--"

"I wasn't going to," said Bluebell. "I was only going to say that I wanted to clean the captain's ear, but it's too tender to be touched."

"He's quite right," said Holly. "I'm afraid I made them neglect it, but do as you think best, Hazel, I'm feeling much better now."

Hazel began on the ear himself. The blood had caked black and the task needed patience. After a while the long, jagged wounds bled again as they slowly became clean. Silver took over. Holly, bearing it as well as he could, growled and scuffled, and Silver cast about for something to occupy his attention.

"Hazel," he asked, "what was this idea you had--about the mouse? You said you'd explain it later. How about trying it out on us now?"

"Well," said Hazel, "the idea is simply that in our situation we can't afford to waste anything that might do us good. We're in a strange place we don't know much about and we need friends. Now, elil can't do us good, obviously, but there are many creatures that aren't elil--birds, mice, yonil and so on. Rabbits don't usually have much to do with them, but their enemies are our enemies, for the most part. I think we ought to do all we can to make these creatures friendly. It might turn out to be well worth the trouble."

"I can't say I fancy the idea myself," said Silver, wiping Holly's blood out of his nose. "These small animals are more to be despised than relied upon, I reckon. What good can they do us? They can't dig for us, they can't get food for us, they can't fight for us. They'd say say they were friendly, no doubt, as long as we were helping them; but that's where it would stop. I heard that mouse tonight--'You want 'im, 'e come.' You bet he will, as long as there's any grub or warmth going, but surely we're not going to have the warren overrun with mice and--and stag beetles, are we?" they were friendly, no doubt, as long as we were helping them; but that's where it would stop. I heard that mouse tonight--'You want 'im, 'e come.' You bet he will, as long as there's any grub or warmth going, but surely we're not going to have the warren overrun with mice and--and stag beetles, are we?"

"No, I didn't mean quite that," said Hazel. "I'm not suggesting we should go about looking for field mice and inviting them to join us. They wouldn't thank us for that, anyway. But that mouse tonight--we saved his life--"

"You saved his life," said Blackberry. saved his life," said Blackberry.

"Well, his life was saved. He'll remember that."

"But how's it going to help us?" asked Bluebell.

"To start with, he can tell us what he knows about the place--"

"What mice know. Not what rabbits need to know."

"Well, I admit a mouse might or might not come in handy," said Hazel. "But I'm sure a bird would, if we could only do enough for it. We can't fly, but some of them know the country for a long way round. They know a lot about the weather, too. All I'm saying is this. If anyone finds an animal or bird, that isn't an enemy, in need of help, for goodness' sake don't miss the opportunity. That would be like leaving carrots to rot in the ground."

"What do you think?" said Silver to Blackberry.

"I think it's a good idea, but real opportunities of the kind Hazel has in mind aren't likely to come very often."

"I think that's about right," said Holly, wincing as Silver resumed licking. "The idea's all right as far as it goes, but it won't come to a great deal in practice."

"I'm ready to give it a try," said Silver. "I reckon it'll be worth it, just to see Bigwig telling bedtime stories to a mole."

"El-ahrairah did it once," said Bluebell, "and it worked. Do you remember?" it worked. Do you remember?"

"No," said Hazel, "I don't know that story. Let's have it."

"Let's silflay first," said Holly. "This ear's had all I can stand for the time being."

"Well, at least it's clean now," said Hazel. "But I'm afraid it'll never be as good as the other, you know. You'll have a ragged ear."

"Never mind," said Holly. "I'm still one of the lucky ones."

The full moon, well risen in a cloudless eastern sky, covered the high solitude with its light. We are not conscious of daylight as that which displaces darkness. Daylight, even when the sun is clear of clouds, seems to us simply the natural condition of the earth and air. When we think of the downs, we think of the downs in daylight, as we think of a rabbit with its fur on. Stubbs may have envisaged the skeleton inside the horse, but most of us do not: and we do not usually envisage the downs without daylight, even though the light is not a part of the down itself as the hide is part of the horse itself. We take daylight for granted. But moonlight is another matter. It is inconstant. The full moon wanes and returns again. Clouds may obscure it to an extent to which they cannot obscure daylight. Water is necessary to us, but a waterfall is not. Where it is to be found it is something extra, a beautiful ornament. We need daylight and to that extent it is utilitarian, but moonlight we do not need. When it comes, it serves no necessity. It transforms. It falls upon the banks and the gra.s.s, separating one long blade from another; turning a drift of brown, frosted leaves from a single heap to innumerable flas.h.i.+ng fragments; or glimmering lengthways along wet twigs as though light itself were ductile. Its long beams pour, white and sharp, between the trunks of trees, their clarity fading as they recede into the powdery, misty distance of beech woods at night. In moonlight, two acres of coa.r.s.e bent gra.s.s, undulant and ankle deep, tumbled and rough as a horse's mane, appear like a bay of waves, all shadowy troughs and hollows. The growth is so thick and matted that even the wind does not move it, but it is the moonlight that seems to confer stillness upon it. We do not take moonlight for granted. It is like snow, or like the dew on a July morning. It does not reveal but changes what it covers. And its low intensity--so much lower than that of daylight--makes us conscious that it is something added to the down, to give it, for only a little time, a singular and marvelous quality that we should admire while we can, for soon it will be gone again.

As the rabbits came up by the hole inside the beech wood, a swift gust of wind pa.s.sed through the leaves, checkering and dappling the ground beneath, stealing and giving light under the branches. They listened, but beyond the rustle of the leaves there came from the open down outside no sound except the monotonous tremolo of a gra.s.shopper warbler, far off in the gra.s.s.