AND THEIR MANAGEMENT 185 



and returns again and again to a mossy patch of 

 tender green. Two sages of the pack think her pro- 

 ceedings worthy of investigation, and feather steadily 

 along in her company up by the laughing burnside. 

 "He's been there," says the Squire, and looks at his 

 watch. They brush through a cluster of fern, and 

 then the little bitch flings up her head ; but before 

 her musical note reaches us on our height, hounds 

 are pressing to her from left and from right. Splash- 

 ing across the water to get to her, tearing wildly down 

 the banks to her, racing up from behind to her, turning 

 short back to her — the heroine of the hour. Once 

 more she flings her tongue alone, and then such a 

 clamorous chorus arises as the whole pack sweep 

 along by the stream below us, and Boxall cheers. 



" Have at him there, forrad, forrad ! " and, with a 

 sparkle in his eyes, the old Squire looks over his 

 shoulder and says, " Best keep moving pretty briskly, 

 gentlemen." The valley narrows and darkens, and 

 thicker grow the firs, and thicker still where the 

 stream turns at right angles to the north. In our 

 meadow above we cut off the angle and again see 

 the striving pack below us, and hear the " gallant 

 chiding " echo and re-echo as the glen becomes wider, 

 and rocks and boulders hang over the stream. Our 

 horses snort and strain at the bit as we canter merrily 

 to such stirring music. A grove of firs is in front : 

 we crash over the rotten fence and pass between the 

 trees into a small green paddock. Beyond frowns a 

 high, straight bank, coped, it appears, with slate ; no 

 gate, but, lo ! yonder a hog-backed stile. What a 

 sweet sensation it is to hop neatly over timber! 



