MONTH OF THE SEASON? 321 



confound you, and let them settle ! " He has no time 

 for more. His horse whips short round, and lays 

 himself out. He may put his horn — anywhere he 

 pleases ; we're away now, and " devil take the 

 hindmost." 



The first fence, half-wall, half-bank, must be nothing, 

 for hounds don't seem to rise at it, just to float over 

 it ; so it's hardly worth taking a pull at that, but 

 some stones rattle wickedly as half a score of folk 

 charge it abreast. Beyond is a great stretch of grass 

 dotted with furze bushes, and hounds are now more 

 than half-way across it, while their shrill notes 

 tantalisingly come back to us on the light breeze. 

 There is a stream in the bottom. Look where you're 

 going ! Well over ! Forrard away ! A wall fronts us, 

 beyond it a road ; and another wall then before the 

 fields are reached. The little bitches swing over road 

 and walls, and now are crashing through a field of 

 turnips — the only bit of tillage we shall see to-day. 

 There is no time to lose. On and off the road where 

 it lies before you ! Ha ! their heads are up in the 

 turnips ! He has turned short to get on to good 

 going on the headland, but Artful has it up along 

 the side of the fence. Some intuition has brought 

 the Master there, too. Twang, twang, twang — forrard, 

 forrard, forrard ! In front rises a high bank, stone- 

 faced to the top, furze and blackthorn growing on 

 it, but here and there a salient place in the growth. 

 My spot lies right in front, and with an effort we 

 are up and over, but drop into a queer sort of hole 

 with briars and furze filling it pretty thickly, out of 

 which we scramble still " connected " — thanks be to 



Hounds, Gentlemen, Please. 22 



