MONTH OF THE SEASON? 323 



The Master, after one slight pause of intent observa- 

 tion, jogs quietly up to the straight road in front, 

 throws a gate open, and touches his horn ; when but 

 half-way across the field the bitches dart forward 

 with thrilling cry, followed by his hearty cheer, and 

 we fling out our " Well done's ! " at the clever 

 cast. 



I think the pace becomes even faster now, or is it 

 that one begins to "move on one's horse" to get that 

 fine, bounding gallop out of him that pleased one 

 so much half an hour ago. He jumps as boldly and 

 freely as ever; but I confess to a feeling of relief 

 when we see a purple-brown line rising high in front of 

 us not very far off. It is the screen round the demesne 

 wall of which we saw so much in the morning, and 

 it becomes a question whether our fox can reach it 

 or no. Ten minutes more decides it. But what a 

 lot can happen in ten minutes ! The Master's horse 

 has refused twice ; my steed's forehead band is 

 plastered with mud ; a friend has described an aerial 

 flight through his horse "chesting" a bank, and his 

 hat is fairly " concertina'd," but he looks happy never- 

 theless ! The bitches, however, are enjoying them- 

 selves amazingly, springing up at the fences as if 

 propelled by some new power, and dashing through 

 the small enclosures we are now traversing with their 

 hackles erect. We are close to the high wall now, 

 and with a scramble and " slither " we light on the 

 road outside it just in time to see hounds swarm on 

 to a little object that is turning in towards the lodge 

 gates. Who-whoop ! They have killed him not three 

 hundred yards from the spot on which they despatched 



