Then, looking out again, there was a pair of ears in the grass not ten yards distant: a rabbit had come out at last.

But the first delight was quickly over: the ears were short and sharply pointed, and almost pinkly transparent.
What would the shepherd say if I brought home one of his hated enemies no bigger than a rat?
The young rabbit made waiting still more painful, being far enough from the hedge to get a clear view into the recess if anything attracted his notice.

Why the shepherd hated rabbits was because the sheep would not feed where they had worn their runs in the grass.

Not the least movement was possible now--not even that little shifting which makes a position just endurable: the heat seemed to increase; the thought of Ulysses could hardly restrain the almost irresistible desire to stir.
When, suddenly, there was a slight rustling among the boughs of an oak in the other hedge, as of wings against twigs: it was a woodpigeon, better game than a rabbit.

He would, I knew, first look round before he settled himself to preen his feathers on the branch, and, if everything was still while that keen inspection lasted, would never notice me.