THE ART ITSELF 159 



soon get there without your help. There is 

 music from every quarter, and the litter are now 

 all afoot. That smart young bitch you had from 

 the Cottesmore — Gillson thought her not quite 

 straight — has met a cub in the ride, has suddenly 

 recognised her mission in life, and is dashing 

 through the undergrowth in pursuit. Sit quiet, 

 bide your time, and don't halloa, but watch the 

 rides carefully. There is a rare scent this morn- 

 ing, and unless the cubs go soon, some of them 

 will lose their lives, but at present, by dodging 

 about, they manage to shift the burden of pursuit 

 on to one another's shoulders in turn, and thus 

 get some respite. See ! yonder across the ride 

 goes the old vixen, looking thin and anxious, 

 followed by a sleek cub, whom she wishes to 

 lead away to safety. Let them go, there are 

 more left behind ; but one of your field has just 

 come in to tell you, a brace of old foxes and a 

 leash of cubs have gone away, so that you must 

 take care the last does not get away without 

 your knowing it. ' Tally-ho, gone away ! ' is 

 heard on the down-wind side, and to your 

 question of ' What is it ? ' the answer comes back, 

 ' The old vixen and a cub, sir.' All right ; you 



