No; I saw that, said Sylvie.He's always afraid of being praised.
But he made me eat it, really! I would much rather he --oh, what's that?
And she clung to my hand, half-frightened, as we came in sight of a hare, lying on its side with legs stretched out just in the entrance to the wood.
It's a hare, my child.Perhaps it's asleep.
No, it isn't asleep, Sylvie said, timidly going nearer to look at it:
it's eyes are open.Is it--is it--her voice dropped to an awestruck whisper, is it dead, do you think?""Yes, it's quite dead," I said, after stooping to examine it.
"Poor thing! I think it's been hunted to death.I know the harriers were out yesterday.But they haven't touched it.Perhaps they caught sight of another, and left it to die of fright and exhaustion.""Hunted to death?" Sylvie repeated to herself, very slowly and sadly.
"I thought hunting was a thing they played at like a game.Bruno and Ihunt snails: but we never hurt them when we catch them!""Sweet angel!" I thought."How am I to get the idea of Sport into your innocent mind?" And as we stood, hand-in-hand, looking down at the dead hare, I tried to put the thing into such words as she could understand.
"You know what fierce wild-beasts lions and tigers are?" Sylvie nodded.
"Well, in some countries men have to kill them, to save their own lives, you know.""Yes," said Sylvie: "if one tried to kill me, Bruno would kill it if he could.""Well, and so the men--the hunters--get to enjoy it, you know:
the running, and the fighting, and the shouting, and the danger.""Yes," said Sylvie."Bruno likes danger."
"Well, but, in this country, there aren't any lions and tigers, loose:
so they hunt other creatures, you see." I hoped, but in vain, that this would satisfy her, and that she would ask no more questions.
"They hunt foxes," Sylvie said, thoughtfully."And I think they kill them, too.Foxes are very fierce.I daresay men don't love them.
Are hares fierce?"
"No," I said."A hare is a sweet, gentle, timid animal--almost as gentle as a lamb.""But, if men love hares, why--why--" her voice quivered, and her sweet eyes were brimming over with tears.
"I'm afraid they don't love them, dear child.""All children love them," Sylvie said."All ladies love them.""I'm afraid even ladies go to hunt them, sometimes."Sylvie shuddered.'"Oh, no, not ladies!' she earnestly pleaded.
"Not Lady Muriel!"
"No, she never does, I'm sure--but this is too sad a sight for you, dear.
Let's try and find some--"
But Sylvie was not satisfied yet.In a hushed, solemn tone, with bowed head and clasped hands, she put her final question.
"Does GOD love hares?"
"Yes!" I said."I'm sure He does! He loves every living thing.
Even sinful men.How much more the animals, that cannot sin!""I don't know what 'sin' means," said Sylvie.And I didn't try to explain it.
"Come, my child," I said, trying to lead her away."Wish good-bye to the poor hare, and come and look for blackberries.""Good-bye, poor hare!" Sylvie obediently repeated, looking over her shoulder at it as we turned away.And then, all in a moment, her self-command gave way.Pulling her hand out of mine, she ran back to where the dead hare was lying, and flung herself down at its side in such an agony of grief as I could hardly have believed possible in so young a child.
"Oh, my darling, my darling!" she moaned, over and over again.
"And God meant your life to be so beautiful!"Sometimes, but always keeping her face hidden on the ground, she would reach out one little hand, to stroke the poor dead thing, and then once more bury her face in her hands, and sob as if her heart would break.
[Image...The dead hare]
I was afraid she would really make herself ill: still I thought it best to let her weep away the first sharp agony of grief: and, after a few minutes, the sobbing gradually ceased, and Sylvie rose to her feet, and looked calmly at me, though tears were still streaming down her cheeks.
I did not dare to speak again, just yet; but simply held out my hand to her, that we might quit the melancholy spot.
Yes, I'll come now, she said.Very reverently she kneeled down, and kissed the dead hare; then rose and gave me her hand, and we moved on in silence.
A child's sorrow is violent but short; and it was almost in her usual voice that she said after a minute "Oh stop stop! Here are some lovely blackberries!"We filled our hands with fruit and returned in all haste to where the Professor and Bruno were seated on a bank awaiting our return.
Just before we came within hearing-distance Sylvie checked me.
"Please don't tell Bruno about the hare!" she said.
Very well, my child.But why not?
Tears again glittered in those sweet eyes and she turned her head away so that I could scarcely hear her reply."He's--he's very fond of gentle creatures you know.And he'd--he'd be so sorry! I don't want him to be made sorry."And your agony of sorrow is to count for nothing, then, sweet unselfish child! I thought to myself.But no more was said till we had reached our friends; and Bruno was far too much engrossed, in the feast we had brought him, to take any notice of Sylvie's unusually grave manner.
"I'm afraid it's getting rather late, Professor?" I said.
"Yes, indeed," said the Professor."I must take you all through the Ivory Door again.You've stayed your full time.""Mightn't we stay a little longer!" pleaded Sylvie.
"Just one minute!" added Bruno.
But the Professor was unyielding."It's a great privilege, coming through at all," he said."We must go now." And we followed him obediently to the Ivory Door, which he threw open, and signed to me to go through first.
"You're coming too, aren't you?" I said to Sylvie.
"Yes," she said: "but you won't see us after you've gone through.""But suppose I wait for you outside?" I asked, as I stepped through the doorway.
"In that case," said Sylvie, "I think the potato would be quite justified in asking your weight.I can quite imagine a really superior kidney-potato declining to argue with any one under fifteen stone!"With a great effort I recovered the thread of my thoughts.
"We lapse very quickly into nonsense!" I said.
