One bright morning, Hare sprang over a low stone, then over a thistle, then over a fallen branch, as if the earth were only a game set out for his feet. Tortoise was crossing the same meadow at his usual pace, carrying his round shell and placing each foot with care.
Hare ran a circle around him and laughed, though not unkindly. “Tortoise,” he said, “by the time you reach that dock leaf, I could run to the willow, back to the hillock, and round the pond besides.” Tortoise lifted his head. “That may be so,” he answered. Hare twitched his long ears. “Then race me,” he said. “Let us see who reaches the old apple stump at the far end of the meadow first.”
The course was plain enough for all to see. It began at the flat stone near the pond, passed the patch of daisies, crossed the dry rise where the grass grew thin, and ended at the apple stump, silvered by many seasons. A blackbird settled on a fence post to watch, while Squirrel came down from an ash tree. Two field mice sat side by side in the clover, and even the old goat by the hedge turned his square face toward the meadow.
When Blackbird gave a sharp, clear call, Hare flew forward at once, his feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground. He passed the daisies in a breath and crossed the dry rise like a gust of wind, soon pulling so far …
6 chapters
