306 LEAVES FRO^T A HUNTING DIARY 



first fence behind him, and landed over the drop into the 

 grass meadow beyond. 



But through the open gateway into the next one, as 

 hounds turn over the bank up the hill to the left of a small 

 clump of trees, the furrows lie the right way, and the Master's 

 grey sluthers into the road at the right place for the gate 

 beyond. Clear now of the crowd, carriage and foot folk, we 

 ought to be in for a run. Up by the hedge side to Dewley 

 Wood, left-handed through the bridle-gate, and you are clear 

 of it as quick as hounds. There is another bridle-gate to the 

 left, but the pace is too good, and the huntsman's lead over 

 the ditch-guarded fence under the tree is freely accepted. Past 

 Pevril's Farm, we cross the line — luckily the railway gates are 

 open. A slight check, and hounds are on again, in and out 

 of the lane, fence after fence. Miss Morgan's horse does not 

 often refuse, but he quickly follows Sir Evelyn Wood's lead 

 over the rail. Who wouldn't follow a V.C. ? Sharp to the 

 left over two more banks, another scramble into a lane, 

 through the bottom of Greensted Wood, out at once over the 

 boggy brook, with Major Carter and Mr. Pemberton-Barnes 

 to the right, into the road and out on the stubble beyond, 

 hounds carrying as good a head as on the grass, they drive 

 along for Mr. Christy's cabbage field, 



'Ware wire ! 'Ware wire ! And the leaders are already 

 turning away from the fence running up to Kettlebury Springs 

 — with the exception of Mr. Barnes, who unknowingly jumps 

 it, while Mr. Cowee shoots by on his little blood bay, with 

 " Here you are, here's a hole to the left." Never a more 

 welcome one. It saves at least half a mile, and opens out 

 splendid galloping ground, as hounds race parallel with the 

 springs ; Captain Bruce's black rapidly overhauling them on 

 the right ; a man at the end of the springs has headed the fox, 

 and it requires the horn to bring the bitch pack back, for they 

 are dreadfully jealous, and they have been coming a rare pace. 

 Twenty minutes to here ; the fox has only run the covert for 

 a hundred yards before they are out again on the right. 

 Picking it up most beautifully, they race down the side of the 

 bean field, bearing away for Marden Ash. We clatter past 

 Mr. Jones's house ; every groom is out on the qui vivc. A 

 slight check on the road ; Bailey holds them down it to the 

 right, and nearly all the local contingent set off at once for 

 the ford. Fiitting off the line in the meadows that run down 

 to the river, they cross it near the mill -a greasy bridge over 

 it, but no apparent outlet until Mr. Mugglestone good- 



