THE HUNTING FIELD 39 



him loose well clear of the pack, and watch the fox 

 being broken up. This performance over, and the 

 huntsman approaches you with the trophies of the 

 chase in his left hand, then he makes a pass with 

 the right, you feel something wet on the cheek, and 

 behold you are " blooded." Gratefully accepting 

 both mask and brush, you fasten them to the saddle 

 and ride slowly home. 



Before you retire, however, there is one point 

 you want explained, and, as the huntsman in this 

 instance is unable to explain it, I will make it 

 clear for you. You noticed that the fox you 

 holloaed across the ride was not the same hounds 

 killed, and the huntsman has told you it was the 

 old vixen, whose head you are carrying away. 

 This is what happened. A tired cub went away, 

 but fortunately for him he found his mother lurk- 

 ing in a hedgerow some two fields away from 

 the covert, when, acting on the maternal advice, he 

 promptly laid down and left her to take his place. 

 The poor old lady had been hovering about the 

 neighbourhood in her anxiety for her family and 

 hoping for an opportunity of this kind, but she had 

 been considerably hustled before leaving the covert, 

 and her strength was not equal to the task of 

 getting away from hounds, so that she sacrificed 

 her life for that of her offspring. 



Arriving at the stable-yard, it is a proud moment 

 for you when John the stud-groom, who taught you 

 riding, comes out and sees the head dangling from 

 the saddle. Of course he takes a great interest 



