Various runs were tried in succession; the size of the loop, too, was
now enlarged and now decreased; for once it seemed as if a rabbit's ears
had struck it aside, and on another as if, the loop being too large or
too low down, one of the fore feet had entered and drawn it. Had it been
the hind leg the noose would have held, because of the crook of the leg;
but the fore foot came through, leaving the noose drawn up to a size not
much larger than a finger-ring. To decide the point accurately, a
full-grown rabbit was shot, and Orion held it in a position as near as
possible to that taken in running, while I adjusted the wire to fit
exactly. Still no success.

At last the secret was revealed by a hare. One day, walking up the lane
with the gun, and peeping over into the ploughed field, I saw a hare
about sixty yards away. The distance was too great to risk a shot, or
rather it was preferable to wait for the chance of his coming nearer.
Stepping back gently behind the bushes, I watched him run to and fro,
gradually approaching in a zig-zag line that must carry him right across
in front. I was positive that he had not seen me, and felt sure of
bagging him; when suddenly--without any apparent cause--up went his
head, he glanced round, and was off like the wind.

Yet there had not been the faintest noise, and I could not understand
it, till all at once it occurred to me that it must be the scent. The
slight, scarcely perceptible, breeze blew in that direction: instantly
he crossed the current from me he detected it and fled. Afterwards I
noticed that in the dusky twilight, if the wind is behind him, a hare
will run straight at you as if about to deliberately charge your legs.
This incident by the ploughed field explained the failure of the wire.
Every other care had been taken, but we had forgotten to allow for the
extreme delicacy of a wild animal's sense of smell.