In the green half-light, in the mouth of one of these two holes, two rabbits were sitting side by side. At length, the larger of the two came out, slipped along the bank under cover of the brambles and so down into the ditch and up into the field. A few moments later the other followed.
The first rabbit stopped in a sunny patch and scratched his left hear with his hind leg. The winter had stayed long in the country. Kestrels, foxes, or cats would be about. He scanned the horizon, which matched the position of the seventh green.
It was their daily routine to visit the place, where the men with sticks hit tiny white balls, and leave a few pellets about. With luck, the men with sticks would not see them when they lined up the white balls. And when they hit them towards the holes… It just took a bobble, that was all.
The trick was getting out onto the green in the coldly bright of the morn and bringing forth their business. As a rabbit, life could be little tough.