OUTDOORS 



on the opposite side, and waded along for 

 a while before going up on the bank. What 

 a sly look he wears on his crafty countenance 

 as he goes into the brush! 



Up on the hills, back in the fields and lanes 

 he has been leading the dogs a merry chase 

 for some time. He has run over ploughed 

 ground where the scent is hard to carry, and 

 he has taken a whirl through a flock of sheep 

 to throw the dogs from the trail. Along a 

 rocky hill-side, where the winds have swept 

 the stones bare, he has trotted, and on sev- 

 eral occasions he has mounted fences and 

 sprung wide from them, leaving the wisest of 

 the pack in perplexity for a while. All the 

 tricks and capers that his wily nature is sus- 

 ceptible of he has played, and still the pack 

 clings to the trail, loses it, regains it, and the 

 chorus of their baying comes by on the wings 

 of the autumn wind. 



There is that in the intonation of a dog's 

 cries that tells the story of the chase. What 

 an eagerly voiced cry rolls out as the reeking 

 scent comes fresh upon his nostrils I Then 

 swells the sound of triumph, the exultant bay- 

 ing which foretells the approaching " death." 

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