Mrs. Wotherspoon nodded assent.
“Well, then, she’s just under the broken piece of fern that lies bending this way. You can see her ears moving at this moment.”
Mrs. Wotherspoon’s eyes brightened as she saw a twinkling something.
“Now then, put her away!” said the Major gaily.
“She won’t bite, will she?” whispered Mrs. Wotherspoon, pretending alarm.
“Oh, bite, no!” laughed the Major; “hares don’t bite—not pretty women at least,” whispered he. “Here take my whip and give her a touch behind,” handing it to her as he spoke.
Mrs. Wotherspoon having then gathered up her violet-coloured velvet dress a little, in order as well to escape the frays of the sharp-toothed brambles as to show her gay red and black striped petticoat below, now advanced cautiously into the rough sea, stepping carefully over this tussuck and t’other, avoiding this briar and that, until she came within whip reach of the fern. She then paused, and looked back with the eyes of England upon her.
“Up with her!” cried the excitcd Major, as anxious for a view as if he had never seen a hare in his life.
Mrs. Wotherspoon then advanced half a step farther, and protruding the Major’s whip among the rustling fern, out sprang—what does the reader think?—A GREAT TOM CAT!
“Tallyho!” cried Billy Pringle, deceived by the colour.