22 Seventy Years a Master. 



into breaking his neck. He used to keep him 

 on a long chain, and whenever he felt that he 

 would like a hunt he would let him loose. 



One day he took him along the Biggles- 

 wade to Baldock turnpike, and turned him 

 out at a likely-looking spot, waiting his 

 accustomed ten minutes before laying them 

 on. But there was no hunt for him that day. 

 Instead, he was soon mixed up in an exciting 

 little adventure, which provided him with 

 fun sufficient to compensate for the loss of his 

 run, and the subject of a yarn which, in after 

 years, he was never tired of telling. 



Near this main turnpike there is one of 

 the prettiest and most secluded country by- 

 ways to be found in these counties, a long 

 grassy lane, shaded on either side by tall 

 hedges of hawthorn, carpeted with a thick, 

 soft, turf which gives an ideal place for an 

 early morning gallop. But this fair Arcadia 

 is known to the gipsy tribe who rove this 

 country for miles around, and it is ten to 

 one that in those days no matter when you 

 went there, you would find a gipsy tent or 



