THE LIFE OF A FOXHOUND. 151 



Now we closed; now we went full swing. 

 Up went Tom Holt's cap. 



" It's a vixen, sir," I heard him say. 



" Stop them, then," replied our master, 

 " and let her go. We can't spare a bitch fox 

 now." 



Out we crashed; but Tom charged at our 

 heads, cracking his awful double thong, and 

 being well mounted, the most daring of us 

 knew that it was hopeless to endeavour to get 

 away with her. Boaster was the only one who 

 made a lame attempt, and he instantly got a 

 cut across the loins, which sent him flying 

 back into cover howling most piteously. 



" It's a hard case," said Trimbush, 

 doggedly, "to be whipped off in this 

 fashion, and I don't think it's fair. When 

 too late to kill vixens," continued he, 

 with little apparent inclination to draw the 

 cover again, " why not give up hunting 

 altogether? " 



" You would be the last to carry out that 

 principle, I'm sure," observed Rubicon. 



" I don't know that," rejoined the old 

 hound. " It's very tantalizing and dispirit- 

 ing to be stopped the moment a fox, which we 

 have taken the trouble and pains to find, 



