"Further away from the gun," replied Blackberry, white-eyed.

"Wait!" said Bigwig, listening. "They're running down the lane. Can't you hear them?"

"I can hear only two rabbits," answered Blackberry, after a pause, "and one of them sounds exhausted."

They looked at each other and waited. Then Bigwig got up again.

"Stay here, all of you," he said. "I'll go and bring them in."

Out on the verge he found Dandelion urging Haystack, who was lamed and spent.

"Come in here quickly," said Bigwig. "For Frith's sake, where's Hazel?"

"The men have shot him," replied Dandelion.

They reached the other five rabbits in the straw. Dandelion did not wait for their questions.

"They've shot Hazel," he said. "They'd caught that Laurel and put him back in the hutch. Then they came after us. The three of us were at the end of a blocked ditch. Hazel went out of his own accord, to distract their attention while we got away. But we didn't know they had a gun."

"Are you sure they killed him?" said Speedwell.

"I didn't actually see him hit, but they were very close to him."

"We'd better wait," said Bigwig.

They waited a long time. At last Dandelion and Bigwig went cautiously back up the lane. They found the bottom of the ditch trampled by boots and streaked with blood, and returned to tell the others.

The journey back, with the three limping hutch rabbits, lasted more than two weary hours. All were dejected and wretched. When at last they reached the foot of the down Bigwig told Blackberry, Speedwell and Hawkbit to leave them and go on to the warren. They approached the wood just at first light and a rabbit ran to meet them through the wet grass. It was Fiver. Blackberry stopped and waited beside him while the other two went on in silence.

"Fiver," he said, "there's bad news. Hazel-"

"I know," replied Fiver. "I know now."

"How do you know?" asked Blackberry, startled.

"As you came through the grass just now," said Fiver, very low, "there was a fourth rabbit behind you, limping and covered with blood. I ran to see who it was, and then there were only three of you, side by side."

He paused and looked across the down, as though still seeking the bleeding rabbit who had vanished in the half-light. Then, as Blackberry said nothing more, he asked, "Do you know what happened?"

When Blackberry had told his news, Fiver returned to the warren and went underground to his empty burrow. A little later Bigwig brought the hutch rabbits up the hill and at once called everyone to meet in the Honeycomb. Fiver did not appear.

It was a dismal welcome for the strangers. Not even Bluebell could find a cheerful word. Dandelion was inconsolable to think that he might have stopped Hazel breaking from the ditch. The meeting came to an end in a dreary silence and a half-hearted silflay.

Later that morning Holly came limping into the warren. Of his three companions, only Silver was alert and unharmed. Buckthorn was wounded in the face and Strawberry was shivering and evidently ill from exhaustion. There were no other rabbits with them.

Fiver lay on the earth floor of the burrow. Outside, the downs were still in the intense, bright heat of noon. The dew and gossamer had dried early from the grass and by midmorning the finches had fallen silent. Now, along the lonely expanses of wiry turf, the air wavered. On the footpath that led past the warren, bright threads of light-watery, a mirage-trickled and glittered across the shortest, smoothest grass. From a distance the trees along the edge of the beech hanger appeared full of great, dense shadows, impenetrable to the dazzled eye. The only sound was the "Zip, zip" of the grasshoppers, the only scent that of the warm thyme.

In the burrow, Fiver slept and woke uneasily through the heat of the day, fidgeting and scratching as the last traces of moisture dried out of the earth above him. Once, when a trickle of powdery soil fell from the roof, he leaped out of sleep and was in the mouth of the run before he came to himself and returned to where he had been lying. Each time he woke, he remembered the loss of Hazel and suffered once more the knowledge that had pierced him as the shadowy, limping rabbit disappeared in the first light of morning on the down. Where was that rabbit now? Where had it gone? He began to follow it among the tangled paths of his own thoughts, over the cold, dew-wet ridge and down into the dawn mist of the fields below.

The mist swirled round Fiver as he crept through thistles and nettles. Now he could no longer see the limping rabbit ahead. He was alone and afraid, yet perceiving old, familiar sounds and smells-those of the field where he was born. The thick weeds of summer were gone. He was under the bare ash boughs and the flowering blackthorn of March. He was crossing the brook, going up the slope toward the lane, toward the place where Hazel and he had come upon the notice board. Would the board still be there? He looked timidly up the slope. The view was blotted with mist, but as he neared the top he saw a man busy over a pile of tools-a spade, a rope and other, smaller implements, the use of which he did not know. The notice board lay flat on the ground. It was smaller than he remembered and fixed to a single, long, square post, sharpened at the further end to put into the earth. The surface of the board was white, just as he had seen it before, and covered with the sharp black lines like sticks. Fiver came hesitantly up the slope and stopped close to the man, who stood looking down into a deep, narrow hole sunk in the ground at his feet. The man turned to Fiver with the kind of amiability that an ogre might show to a victim whom they both know that he will kill and eat as soon as it suits him to do so.

"Ah! An' what am I doin', eh?" asked the man.

"What are you doing?" answered Fiver, staring and twitching with fear.

"I'm just putt'n up this 'ere ol' board," said the man. "And I s'pose you wants t' know what for, eh?"

"Yes," whispered Fiver.

"It's fer that there old 'Azel," said the man. "On'y where 't'is, see, we got t' put up a bit of a notice, like, on 'is account. And what d'you reckon it says, eh?"

"I don't know," said Fiver. "How-how can a board say anything?"

"Ah, but it do, see?" replied the man. "That's where we knows what you don't. That's why we kills you when we 'as a mind to. Now, you wants take a good look at that there board and then very likely you'll know more 'n what you knows now."

In the livid, foggy twilight, Fiver stared at the board. As he stared, the black sticks flickered on the white surface. They raised their sharp, wedge-shaped little heads and chattered together like a nestful of young weasels. The sound, mocking and cruel, came faintly to his ears, as though muffled by sand or sacking. "In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! In memory of Hazel-rah! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!"

"Well, that's where 't'is, see?" said the man. "And I've got t'ang 'im up on this 'ere board. That's t' say, soon's I gets it stood up proper. Same as you'd 'ang up jay, like, or old stoat. Ah! Gon' 'ang 'im up."

"No!" cried Fiver. "No, you shan't!"

"On'y I ain't got 'im, see?" went on the man. "That's why I can't get done. I can't 'ang 'im up, 'cos 'e've gone down th' bloody 'ole, that's where 'e've gone. 'E've gone down th' bloody 'ole, just when I'd got 'n lined an' all, and I can't get 'n out."