A North Carolina Fox Hunt hy Moonlight 49 



a sound save the hoot ol" an owl, a whip-poor-will's call, or the 

 crowing of a distant cock that mistook the moonlight night 

 for the balmy dawn. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it all, the 

 balmy air with its piny flavour, the aroma of the wood, nectar 

 for the gods, and the glorious moonlight through the tree tops. 

 What a perfect night ! 



We were, as Col. Thorpe had prophesied, on the best of 

 terms with all mankind, especially the brethren (fox hunting 

 fraternity) . Add to all this, reader, please, if you can imagine 

 it, the "heavenly music" of the hounds. How it rose and fell 

 on the soft night air, sometimes dying down to a whimper, 

 and then like the final chorus of a grand pipe organ, increasing 

 in volume until it filled the forest, the fields and adjoining 

 hills W'ith echoing melody. 



It was at least three o'clock when we reached the house. 

 We had no more than reached the door when Col. Thorpe, 

 dressed in pajamas, came down to hear the news. 



"Oh. marster, but you ought to er been dar," cried Jim at 

 the sight of his master. "Old Ginger done lead the pack." 



"Good," cried the Colonel, "tell me all about it." 



So Jim, having struck an attitude on the floor where want 

 of chairs and tables gave him plenty of room, began, the Colo- 

 nel, meanwhile, sitting on the arm of a chair, his face all aglow 

 with expectation, anticipation and pride. If Jim had to tell 

 how he won for him a million dollars, he could not have been 

 more anxious. 



"Fust off," said Jim, "Rastus (Col. Sacket's old coloured 

 man who handled his hounds) gave me a big sermon 'bout de 

 Runnel's new hound, what he done fetch over from England. 

 He say 'Yo old boneyard hounds am no good any mo', along- 

 side de 'ported (imported) kind.' 'Rastus,' I say, 'You ole 

 fool nigger, you jus' go long 'bout your business, fo' you head 

 git so big it surely bust. Have you got any money yo' like to 

 back vour talk wid?' " 



