THE HUNTING FIELD 35 



comes up, and by aid of an excellent nose, as- 

 sisted by the wisdom of age, speedily unravels 

 the mystery. 



At this check you had feared it was all over, and 

 your spirits rise again when you see the pack fly 

 to Lavishes tuneful note. The fence ahead appears 

 a very simple affair, and the field beyond is old 

 seeds. Your experience in the country — perhaps 

 looking for blackberries — has taught you that the 

 yellow grass and briars in front of the hedge you 

 are now riding at will most probably conceal a 

 ditch. This knowledge you expect to be shared 

 by the pony, and, sticking in your heels, ride gaily 

 at the obstacle. Crash ! bump ! The ground rises 

 up suddenly and hits you a smack on the head. 

 For the fraction of a second you are dazed, then 

 jumping to your feet you clutch at the reins and 

 prepare to remount. What happened ? Only a 

 blind ditch, and you rode at it rather too fast, so 

 that when the pony put his feet in the ditch he 

 could not recover, and both of you rolled over the 

 fence into the field beyond. Your nose is bleeding 

 a little, and you have scratched your face, whilst 

 your hat is smashed out of shape — but these are 

 mere trifles. Climb on the pony as quick as you 

 can, for the pack are only just disappearing through 

 the next fence, and you will easily catch them 

 up. Experience is a valuable tutor, and this little 

 mishap will have taught you the necessity of riding 

 slowly at a fence when the ditch facing you is con- 

 cealed by grass or tangled briars. 



