MONTH OF THE SEASON? 317 



him, just like the pictures ! Hurrah ! No game that 

 ever was phiyed equals this ! It is splendid going, 

 ideal turf — " Forrard, f orrard, f orrard away ! " 



We who are old in experience know well that there 

 is little chance of this fox taking to the open country, 

 but that he is pretty sure to go the round of the 

 screens, where he will probably knock up a substitute 

 and save his brush. But it is impossible to escape the 

 contagion. There is a scent, too, it would seem, for 

 the fox twists round a clump of trees, and, though 

 hounds lose their view, they seldom spin round so 

 quickly, even when close to their fox, unless the scent 

 is pretty useful. So a cluster of us who are old stagers 

 ride wide in the direction taken by the first whipper-in, 

 who has reached the end of the plantation the fox 

 has just now entered. He is busy with a gate there 

 as we approach ; but I catch sight of a little dark 

 streak that almost seems to be carried by the wind 

 over the grass beyond the planting, so smoothly does 

 it move. But it is our fox, and he is heading for the 

 screens which bound the park. The whipper-in has 

 " missed him," as he says, " when stooping at the gate." 

 There is no need to holloa or shout, or to touch the 

 whistle ; the hounds have had enough of that already. 

 Here they come, tearing through the hollow planta- 

 tion, making the trees fairly ring with the fierce 

 joy of their cry, while the sound of their feet among 

 the red, fallen leaves, which fly up in clouds as they 

 pass, is as the sound of rushing water. The scarlet- 

 clad servant rides quietly forward with his cap in 

 air as they burst from the spinney ; the Master is 

 already at the far side, and his cheery horn is followed 



