"I've got her," said the voice of Tom gleefully. "My! isn't she a
beauty? Over nine pounds if she is an ounce. Only just in time, though,"
he went on, "for, look! she's drowning; her head wobbles as though she
were sea-sick. Buck up, pussie, buck up! You mustn't cheat the hounds at
last, you know. It wouldn't be sportsmanlike, and they hate dead hares."

Then he held me by my hind legs to drain the water out of me, and
afterwards began to blow down my nose, I did not know why.

"Don't do that, Tom," said Ella sharply. "It's nasty."

"Must keep the life in her somehow," answered Tom, and went on blowing.

"Master Tom," interrupted Giles, who was rowing the boat. "I ain't
particular, but I wish you'd leave that there hare alone. Somehow I
thinks there's bad news in its eye. Who knows? P'raps the little devil
feels. Any way, it's a rum one, its swimming out to sea. I never see'd a
hunted hare do that afore."

"Bosh!" said Tom, and continued his blowing.

We reached the shore and Tom jumped out of the boat, holding me by the
ears. The hounds were all on the beach, most of them lying down, for
they were very tired, but the men were standing in a knot at a distance
talking earnestly, Tom ran to the hounds, crying out--

"Here she is, my beauties, here she is!" whereon they got up and began
to bay. Then he held me above them.