Two Days With the Quorn (Second Day) 165 



"Now, please, gentlemen, hold hard. Give the hounds a 

 chance. They are not running yet." 



Our mounts are now as restless as so many race-horses at 

 the starting post. They throw their heads, bite at their bits, 

 paw the ground, break away and let their heels fly from sheer 

 impatience to be off. 



"Steady there, Richard; easy, easy, old man. It's coming 

 soon. Easy now." 



"But look, master, I can't stand this much longer," said 

 Richard. 



"Nor I either, old boy, but I must hold hard, you know." 



Have the hounds gone to sleep, I wonder? Oh, those 

 trying minutes between a "Tally-o-away! Gone away," and 

 the find. There comes a whimper as some hound half owns to 

 the line. 



"Hark to Mistress! Hark to Mistress!" shouts the hunts- 

 man. "Hark to Mistress, my beauties." 



The hounds rush to Mistress, but they can't quite make it 

 out until Trumpeter hits off the line with a joyous shout. 

 Then, with a cheer from the huntsman that fills one's heart with 

 joy, the pack rush to the line with a burst of melody, and go 

 streaming away like race-horses from the post and the chase 

 is on. 



Away we went. Our first fence was a neatly trimmed 

 hedge, about three and one-half feet high. I took Richard "by 

 the head" to steady him to it the same as at timber. Of all 

 things, a puller and a rusher at his fences is something I can- 

 not abide. Richard would have no meddling with his head and 

 he left the hedge behind him in his stride. 



What's this ? An overgrown hedge ^vith a ditch on the take- 

 off side? I saw it was a neck-or-nothing ride but I made up my 

 mind to let Richard manage it. He knew more about this 

 style of jumping than I did. On we went, at a fearful pace. 

 Some were making for a gate to the right. Others were riding 



