354 GUN, RIFLE, AND HOUND. 



no amount of experience will convince them of the 

 folly of attempting to draw a badger. Hark ! a yelp, 

 one of the dogs has "got it," and the uproar below 

 grows more and more furious. Some twenty minutes 

 elapse before one dog emerges, bleeding of course. I 

 promptly secure him, and soon the other follows. It 

 has been cold waiting, and, knocking the ashes out of 

 my pipe, I turn homewards. 



Passing through the woods I came on a stone cross. 

 There are dozens here, everywhere on the roadsides, 

 but not so many in the woods. Perhaps there was an 

 old track this way. The cross is rudely sculptured 

 with the figures of Christ and the Virgin with Saint 

 Donatus underneath. 



Half a mile more and I emerge on the road 

 within a furlong of where I left it two hours back. The 

 cold is bitter now, and I hasten home. As I slip into 

 the comfortable arm-chair behind the stove and call 

 for tea, the bells ring out again. This time it is the 

 Angelus. 



