Ah, but you didn't watch sharply enough! You didn't see, as he circled
past, that cunning side gleam of his yellow eyes, which understood
your attitude perfectly. Had you stirred, he would have vanished like
a flash. You didn't run to the top of the hill where he disappeared,
to see that burst of speed the instant he was out of your sight. You
didn't see the capers, the tail-chasing, the high jumps, the quick
turns and plays; and then the straight, nervous gallop, which told
more plainly than words his exultation that he had outwitted you and
shown his superiority.
Reynard, wherever you meet him, whether on the old road at twilight,
or on the runway before the hounds, impresses you as an animal of
dignity and calculation. He never seems surprised, much less
frightened; never loses his head; never does things hurriedly, or on
the spur of the moment, as a scatter-brained rabbit or meddling
squirrel might do. You meet him, perhaps as he leaves the warm rock on
the south slope of the old oak woods, where he has been curled up
asleep all the sunny afternoon. (It is easy to find him there in
winter.) Now he is off on his nightly hunt; he is trotting along,
head down, brows deep-wrinkled, planning it all out.
"Let me see," he is thinking, "last night I hunted the Draper woods.
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