90 



THE MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 



CHAPTER IX. 



The breakfast at Mr. Compton's, after the ball, presented a 

 striking contrast to that of Marston Castle. All faces beamed 

 with happy smiles and joyous good humour, induced by the kind 

 reception they experienced from the master and mistress of 

 Brockley House, who welcomed friends and strangers alike to 

 partake of their hospitality. Opposite to the breakfast-room 

 windows on the lawn were congregated about three hundred 

 pheasants, called together by the keeper's whistle, and enjoying 

 their breakfast also. 



" Ah ! " remarked Mrs. Compton, playfully to Bob Conyers, 

 whose eyes were riveted on the game, " I judge what your feel- 

 ings are in witnessing this formidable array of your enemies ; 

 but come, I will make you a bet of five shillings that there is 

 one of your friends lurking in that bed of laurels, not twenty 

 yards from the spot where the pheasants are now feeding." 



" Thank you, my dear madam, for your kind offer of reliev- 

 ing my pockets of its contents, which may possibly amount to 

 the sum you have named, and which I should most certainly 

 lose, were I rash enough to accept such a wager. As we are all 

 well aware of your and Mr. Compton's liberality in catering 

 for your friends in pink jackets, there is no person to whom I 

 could hand over five shillings with less reluctance than to your- 

 self; but as my purse is not on any day of the week incon- 

 veniently burdened with the coin of the realm, and on hunting 

 clays contains only sufficient for the contingencies which may 

 occur, such as a feed of corn and a bucket of gruel for my horse, 

 probably a lost shoe or two, and a glass of brandy and water for 

 myself, with a few little extras for ostler and turnpikes on my 

 road to and from hunting, I could not venture on such a hazard 

 as an even bet, although I would not refuse four to one, which 

 I think are the fair odds against a fox being found in the bed of 

 laurels." 



" There, Mr. Conyers, look there," cried a little girl, running 

 up to him* " there is a fox just peeping out from the laurels." 



" By Jove, my darling ! " exclaimed Bob, taking the child up 

 in his arms and kissing her, " you have just saved me from 

 losing a shilling to your mamma, which, by the way, I dare say, 

 is very provoking to her; but to pacify her anger, you may 

 whisper to her that Bob's annual, on Christmas Day, will make 

 some amends for her disappointment." 



