"Answer--my answer! Well, here it is. What are you, Man, who dare to say
that you give life or withhold it? You a Lord of life, _you!_ I tell
you that I know little, yet I am sure that you or those like you have
no more power to create life than the world we have left has to bid the
stars to shine. If the life must come, it will come, and if it cannot
fulfil itself as a hare, then it will appear as something else. If you
say that you create life, I, the poor beast which you tortured, tell you
that you are a presumptuous liar."

"You dare to lecture me," said the Man, "me, the heir of all the ages,
as the poet called me. Why, you nasty little animal, do you know that I
have killed hundreds like you, and," he added, with a sudden afflatus of
pride, "thousands of other creatures, such as pheasants, to say nothing
of deer and larger game? That has been my principal occupation since I
was a boy. I may say that I have lived for sport; got very little else
to show for my life, so to speak."

"Oh!" said the Hare, "have you? Well, if I were you, I shouldn't boast
about it just now. You see, we are still outside of those Gates. Who
knows but that you will find every one of the living things you have
amused yourself by slaughtering waiting for you within them, each
praying for justice to its Maker and your own?"

"My word!" said the Man, "what a horrible notion; it's like a bad
dream."

He reflected a little, then added, "Well, if they do, I've got my
answer. I killed them for food; man must live. Millions of pheasants are
sold to be eaten every year at a much smaller price than they cost to