"Arm isn't long enough."
Ponto whimpered, very much as if he understood what his master was saying. That was probably not the first runaway game which had disappointed him by getting into a den of safety of one kind or another.
"Hey, Port! Here he comes!"
"Got him, have you?"
"There he is."
Corry withdrew his arm as he spoke, and held up in triumph a very large, fat, white rabbit.
"You did reach him."
"No, I didn't. Some of my shot had hit him, and he came down the hole of his own weight. Don't you see? They didn't strike him in the right place to tumble him right over: he could run."
"Poor fellow!" said Porter: "he won't run any more now."
It was of small use to pity that rabbit, when the one thought uppermost in his mind was that he could not go home happy unless he could carry with him another of the same sort, and of his own shooting.