20 THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 



We were now on the verge of Wiverton 

 Gorse — an extensive brake of some forty acres 

 of high but not thick furze, except in patches 

 where it had been lately cut. 



" Don't let a hound get away," said the 

 huntsman. " We'll rattle the covers well; 

 but be sure and hold the hounds in." 



At this moment Bluecap and Dauntless 

 made an attempt to sneak away; and, before 

 getting a rate from Ned Adams, found his 

 double thong cracking round their loins. 



" That's for not waiting orders," observed 

 Trimbush. 



' ' Cover-hoik ! cover-hoik ! ' ' hallooed the 

 huntsman ; ' * Elooin-hoik ! ' ' and into the 

 brake we crashed like a flash of lightning. 



" That's the dash of the old blood ! " said 

 the huntsman, as I rushed through the gorse 

 with the ambitious eagerness to find. ** I'd 

 bet a season's capping," continued he, " that 

 he takes as kindly to work as a baby does to 

 sucking." 



" You'd better keep by me," observed 

 Trimbush, " and learn a little of your 

 business, instead of tearing your eyes out in 

 that blundering, stupid manner. One would 

 think, if you were not a greenhorn of a 



