SAINT VALENTINE. 20!) 



summoned him to assist, partook fully as much of the assump- 

 tion of command as they did of entreaty — for time forbade 

 ceremony, and A. was already well nigh to wrath with himself 

 and all surroundings. Anyhow, B. gave unhesitating com- 

 pliance. The ditch was broad and blind, the binders lay strong 

 above a lofty bank, and a goodly drop led into the field beyond. 

 Into this field B. and his horse pursued headlong their different 

 ways. A. followed gleefully, but, alas, with the consciousness 

 of a debt incurred — and found himself involved in a ten 

 minutes' ride in pursuit of his pilot's clumsy hunter ; while the 

 gay throng that he would have headed faded gradually from his 

 longing sight. Begone ambition. Begone gratitude. Make 

 your moral, and swing your gates. I have no long story for 

 Monday. A warm sun, a capital scent, and a fox that loved a 

 circle and might well have learned his country on a pony. 

 These made the young day. 



The first point to note in the next Pytchley Wednesday is 

 that we hunted at all. The ground was deemed possible for 

 hounds about 11.30, but pronounced by one and all who were 

 sunning themselves at Misterton to be absolutely unfit foi 

 riding, positively dangerous for jumping. How consistently 

 they acted upon the unanimous dictum, I will briefly show. 

 Fifty — nay, a hundred — went with hounds for a forty minutes' 

 ride from Misterton Gorse long before the hot sun had in any 

 degree ironed out the stiffened turf. And later on, not a 

 hundred, but as many as were quick enough, scurried from the 

 same good covert to Stanford Hall for as sharp a little burst as 

 has decked the calendar of this chequered season. Of course it 

 was not fit to ride or to jump. But hounds went so fast that 

 the fact passed out of recognition for the pleasant time being — 

 and I fancy few people or horses suffered for the temporary 

 forgetfulness. The first fox, then, led them what I may term 

 the usual line of the present season — a ring by Swinford 

 village rightward to Shawell Wood. Hounds went more than a 

 fair pace most of the way — while we kept to the roads with 

 determined persistency for a mile, then found we couldn't, so 

 rode resignedly over such gaps as came in the line. I don't 



