THE OLD PACK 19 



into trousers ? Anyhow, it is over a quarter of a 

 century ago. He is as monosyllabic as ever, but the 

 grip he gives your hand makes your fingers tingle.^ 

 Close to him is Will, the kennel huntsman and 

 whipper-in, who has been with the pack as long as 

 the master, and is absolutely autocratic in the feeding- 

 house, and very nearly so on the flags. Like his 

 predecessor yesterday, he, too, is on the broad grin. 

 Then there are a couple of the governor's cronies who 

 remember us in long clothes, and half a dozen farmers, 

 some of whom do the same, whilst the others played 

 cricket with or against us in the holidays later on. 



But the squire is not given to waste time. With 

 a slight whistle he turns his hog-maned horse off the 

 green (of course the meet is on a village green, and the 

 spectators principally women, children, and geese), 

 and jogs down the road. Not much more than a 

 furlong on he turns to the right, and then a muddy, 

 stony land lead us to the covert. 



This is a leg-of-mutton-shaped patch of young larch, 

 the trees being some years older at the broad end 

 where the squire has just waved in the hounds with 

 a " Eleu in, there." The other side of the high-road 

 we have just left is a big woodland ; but it is up-wind 

 to-day, and master and man commence a duet of whip- 

 crackings and cheering which is calculated to turn 

 any fox from this point. 



" Now then, youngster, as I suppose you mean to 

 show us all how to do the trick, you'd better come 

 with me," says the governor, and leads the way to 

 one side of the, so to say, point of the covert. Mean- 

 while, hounds have found, and are pushing their 



^ The squire (alas !) is gone. Only about a week before his death I saw 

 him out hunting — but no longer as M.F.H. 



