FOX-HUNTING TYPES 221 



doubt, but "boys will be boys." Our huntsman is 

 down there now, and there go the hounds. No ! 

 he hasn't quite the note on the horn that the old 

 man had — but who has ? We must be moving though, 

 on through the next gap, and follow the cart-track 

 down the hill and cross the stream. What a cry 

 comes up from below ! You need no spurs, I see. 

 Splash through the water, and peg up the little green 

 lane, with the low stone walls on either side. The 

 fox passed up the field to the right of it. I told you 

 so, and here we are alongside the hounds. 



Look at them now, they have fairly got hold of 

 the scent ; see the two dark-coloured bitches that 

 lead them— like greyhounds on a hare, aren't they? 

 How they do drive along ! That's a hard-riding chap 

 coming up on the bay horse. How cleverly he 

 jumped that stone-faced bank ; good sportsman, 

 though ! he will do no harm ! Here comes the 

 Master ! Looks happy, doesn't he ? I should think he 

 had all his hounds on. Did you take the time when 

 the fox broke ? Too excited, were you ? Well, I have 

 it — ten to twelve by my watch ; remember that ! 



Where are we heading for ? Well, there's a biggish 

 wood about five miles in front of us, and a lonely 

 country all the way ; we're bound to see something 

 of them if they run that way. There's a road in 

 front of us that our lane comes out upon, and once 

 over that road it's safe to be a run, for, bar accidents, 

 they won't be over-ridden to-day. How well they run 

 together, don't they ? But the black bitches still lead, 

 and how's that for a cry ? What is there like that 

 continuous musical clamour that seems to rise and 



