186 HOUNDS AT WORK 



hill, where the pack scattered freely in search 

 of the game. 



They were a level lot of hounds, very much 

 alike to a stranger, yet as different in the eyes of 

 the squire as were their names to his ears. He 

 had named them himself, most happily Squire 

 Praed thought, on hearing Sir Tudor call in 

 turn on Melody, Corisande, Guinevere, Merlin, 

 Cymro, and Caradoc. 



Awhile each hound worked separately, in- 

 different to all around, one would have thought, 

 yet in reality keenly observant of the others, 

 for as soon as Trueboy waved his stern half 

 a score flocked to him. 



They are at once all excitement, as well they 

 may be ; they have hit the line of the hare, and 

 are following it between the two big boulders 

 where he passed on his way to Hannibal's 

 Carn, the tan splashes on their coats gleam- 

 ing like russet gold in the slant sunlight, their 

 musical voices awakening the echoes of the rocks, 

 and thrilling every member of the little field. 



Soon they return to the Galver, clinging 

 tenaciously to the trail, whose bewildering maze 

 they strive their utmost to unravel. The eager 

 movements of every hound show that he knows 

 the hare is near and will soon be afoot, yet, 

 when like a shadow gliding over the sunlit slope 



