220 FOX-HUNTING TYPES 



the furze-clad banks, and the dark Scotch firs grow- 

 ing where the sides are steepest. 



" 'Tis the place ; and all about it, as of old, the magpies call, 

 Boding evil to ' the Lad.' . . ." 



Hark ! What a piercing note ! Sounds almost like 

 a hound in pain, doesn't it? There it goes again! 

 Reminds you of old Starlight, does it? Well, old 

 Starlight has been dust this many a year; but that 

 was Cowslip, a grand-daughter of hers — see ! there she 

 is on the other side, on the rocky slope where the gorse 

 grows so sparsely. There never is a scent there, you 

 remember, and not another hound can speak to it. 

 There, she shows again ! Same colour, you see — red 

 and white, like her grand-dam. How like the old 

 bitch even from here ! Mark the extraordinary way 

 she lashes her stern. 



There are some followers, though ; look at them 

 working hard in her tracks ! But they can't quite 

 own the scent. Aye, now they have it ! now they 

 can press him a bit ! I reared that black bitch, and 

 she's a wonder. Wait till you see her in the open ! 



The fox, did you say ? Where ? Ah, I thought the 

 sight of him would fetch you. Aye, there he goes 

 again across the rocky bit. See if he crosses the 

 stream below. No ! What? Yes ; by Jove, you're 

 right. Yonder he goes ! He's away ! 



What are those fellows doing pressing on down 

 there? Why, poaching a start! Well, they can't 

 head the fox now, but they may foil his line before 

 the hounds come out. They must learn better, no 



