"Bravo, bravo, bravo!" cried he. "I'll take this gun, and then if anybody tries to torment or to catch me, I'll—I'll kill them."
He hung the bag round his waist, and put the gun on his shoulder, then walked off to his home. On the way, a boy ran at him, and cried "Bo!" but he just pointed the gun, and the boy ran away.
The Hare lived all by himself, but he was very comfortable. Nobody could bother him, and he would have been quite content only for the men and the dogs.
Every day he practised with his gun till he got to be very skilful.
"Just let them come along
And they shall all soon see,
That they're all in the wrong
To plague and bother me.
Although I'm but a hare,
I think I'm very smart,
And can—let them beware—
Right well take my own part."
So he sang, as he sat one day polishing up his gun.
As he was busily at work, he heard a noise, and cocked his ear. Tramp, tramp, tramp, came along some one—a man. It was a poacher, who said to himself he was going to catch a fine fat Hare. The man cast an eye round, but the Hare hid, and watched.
Then the man stole nearer, and peeped round a tree.
"Aha!" said the Hare. "You want to catch me, and eat me, don't you? But I am going to catch you, and boil you for my supper."
The man only laughed, for it was preposterous the idea of a Hare catching a man, instead of a man catching a hare.