28 FOX-HUNTING IN NEW ENGLAND 



in the old dog yet." He halts for an instant and 

 snuffs the air; draws toward a tuft of grass and 

 noses it carefully; his sensitive nostrils dilate; his 

 staid and sober tail begins, not to wag, but to 

 describe circles; the serious lines of his brow be- 

 come a frown; he mounts that log and snuffs it 

 from end to end and back again with studious 

 care. There has been a fox here, but which way 

 has he gone? Never fear that the old dog will not 

 tell you soon, but by what marvelous faculty he 

 finds it out, who but a dog can tell? Alas! such 

 niceties of his language are a sealed book to us. 

 Now his loud, eager snuffing has grown to a sup- 

 pressed challenge, and every muscle seems strained 

 to its utmost tension as he leaves the log and 

 makes a few lopes toward the woods, stops for 

 an instant as if turned to stone, raises his good 

 gray muzzle skyward, and awakens all the woods 

 and hills with his deep, sonorous voice! That way 

 has Reynard gone, and that bugle-note has per- 

 haps given him premonition of his doom. This 

 note has recalled the young dog from his wild 

 ranging, and he joins his older and wiser com- 

 panion, without bringing much aid, however, for, 

 catching the scent, he proclaims his discovery 

 till long after he has overrun it, now and then 

 slightly disconcerting the old truth-teller; but the 

 veteran soon learns to ignore the youngster and 

 works his way steadily toward the wooded edge 



