THE WANING SEASON 



putting off hunting all the winter began to 

 think seriously of taking to it next, and to make 

 arrangements for November. 



The morning of the last day was anything 

 but propitious. The sun shone clear and bright, 

 while a cutting east wind starved the sheltered 

 side of the face horses' coats stared, the hounds 

 looked listless and ill, and men's boots carried 

 dust instead of mud -sparks. Fitful gusts of 

 wind hurried the dust along the roads, or raised 

 it in eddying volleys on hills and exposed 

 places. It felt like anything but hunting ; the 

 fallows were dry and parched, the buds on the 

 trees looked as if they thought they had better 

 retire, and all nature yearned for rain rain would 

 be a real blessing. 



Still there was a goodish muster of pinks, 

 and the meet being on the road, sundry flys 

 and other sporting equipages contributed their 

 quota of dust. Great was the moaning and 

 lamentation that the season was over. Men 

 didn't know what they should do with them- 



207 



