148 THE FOX IN SUMMER 



the deer-park wall, raced into their fox — a grey old 

 campaigner — in the middle of a heavy field of plough. 



"They didn't give you much time to look at the 

 spiders' webs on the fences, I fancy," grimly remarked 

 Sir Charles, as he noted the smoking steeds and per- 

 spiring riders. 



Yet in all the observations I listened to at the meet 

 there was a certain amount of sense and truth born 

 of tradition, and, perhaps, experience. It is a bad 

 sign when cobwebs are seen and when hounds roll, 

 and the north-west wind is, as a rule, unfavourable to 

 scent, but not ahcays. Why not always? Therein lies 

 the insoluble mystery. So many abler pens than mine 

 have written, so many authoritative tongues have 

 spoken on the subject, that I jot down these reflections 

 of my own with much diffidence and humility. 



Though it is, I believe, an acknowledged fact that 

 some dog foxes emit a stronger scent than others, 

 yet I am inclined to think that, apart from the 

 effect of soil and atmosphere, and the nature of the 

 vegetation through which a fox passes, we are, in 

 this vexed question of scent, a good deal more 

 dependent upon the particular animal we are hunting 

 than is generally supposed. 



I have, or had, to be thankful for a gift — or is it 

 knack? — of viewing foxes away from covert, and 

 during the pursuit, which does not seem to be shared 

 to the same extent by many of my friends ; and, thanks 

 to this power of observation, I have several times 

 noted a certain occurrence in the hunting-field, which 

 I have no doubt has also been manifest to many 

 readers of these pages. Let me give, as an example, 



