The Master of the Hounds. 3 



Daisyfield trotted up to the hounds, used very nearly to 

 make his lordship sick. Enquired his nephew, the Hon. 

 Dick Lavender, on a visit to my lord, as the two cantered 

 up to the meet, one fine morning, and, as usual, were met 

 and saluted by Mr. Baggs : 



** Who's the red-faced party with the brown tops and 

 the alarming voice, uncle ?" 



'* That dreadful person, Dick?" replied my lord, with a 

 grimace and a shudder. ''Goodness only knows. My 

 huntsman tells me he's 'something in oil,' and that's all 

 I know. And," added his uncle, " I conjure you, ride 

 over him, Dick. Ride over him the very first oppor- 

 tunity, there's a good boy, and you'll be conferring a most 

 inestimable favour on both myself and my Hunt." 



Well, the irrepressible Mr. Baggs continued to hunt on, 

 week after week, day after day, regardless of all the noble 

 Master's black looks. Lord Daisyfield literally hated the 

 very sight of him. He was always a " hollerin'," as the 

 first whip remarked. 



*' Who the blank taught you to holler ? " said the 

 huntsman to him one day, galloping up a ride very irate 

 because the fox would not break, and catching old Baggs 

 at the far end shouting like mad, for he had just viewed 

 the fox crossing the ride. 



"Who the blank taught j^/ow to holler? Can't ye leave 

 the 'ounds alone, yer silly man ?" added he, as he plunged 

 short into the wood, nearly upsetting poor Mr. Muff, who 

 was standing in the way. 



Then he had ridden over a hound or two. Old Barbara, 

 one of my lord's favourite hounds, did not get over that 

 kick in the ribs the great Baggs's brute of a grey mare 

 gave to her one day, for a fortnight at least. 



B— 2 



