THE DOUBTFUL DAY 273 



shaded road speedily discounts. " Freezing still in 

 the shade, I'm afraid, though," is the next observation ; 

 a fact so cruelly evident that no printable reply is 

 necessary. We ease the pace a bit, and console our- 

 selves by remarking that " There's no need to hurry 

 at all events, for they won't throw off before twelve 

 o'clock on such a day." 



It's a wintry drive at best ! The peewits in the grass 

 fields look gigantic, and the starlings as large as 

 peewits. The rooks that follow the plough are very 

 tame, not to say impudent, and the cattle keep close 

 against the fences, huddling together for warmth, 

 their heads turned towards the gate in patient ex- 

 pectation of the arrival of the fodder cart ; and the 

 distant hills are white to their very bases. But there 

 is warmth now in the sun, and the short grass begins 

 to sparkle with moisture. We overtake a fellow- 

 sportsman hacking on and dealing his scarlet-clad 

 chest and shoulders resounding claps with hands en- 

 cased in white woollen gloves. " The hounds are just 

 ahead," he declares. " I suppose He'll try and hunt 

 somewhere ! It might be rideable by one o'clock ! " 



Then the pack is overtaken, and the cheerful visage 

 of the first whip as he removes his cap is the best 

 thing we have seen this morning — except the plough. 

 "'Unt, sir?" says he in answer to our query. "Of 

 course we'll 'unt ! Nothing to stop our 'unting at 

 twelve o'clock ! Why, it never froze till early this 

 mornin', sir ! Only hopes we'll have a scent, sir ! 

 That's what I'm doubting about. What with this sun 

 and the rime on the north slopes ! " 



This is good hearing ; but our experience is not of 



Hvuiids, Gentlemen, Please. 19 



