70 THE MASTER OF THE HOUNDS. 



drawn blank ; and not a challenge was heard from any hound; 

 until they reached a small gorse covert, belonging to Farmer 

 Stiles, on the outskirts of Marston Manor, from which, at half- 

 past three o'clock, a fine old fox Avas viewed away, and run into, 

 within twenty minutes. 



" Short and sweet ! " exclaimed Sir Francis, as they pulled 

 him down in the open. 



" Too short for such a fox as that," remarked Bob ; " he 

 ought to have stood an hour at least. Something queer about 

 his being finished in twenty minutes ; what is it, Charley ? " 



" A little more of Mr. Sharpum's handywork, sir," handing 

 Bob one of the forepads, all the toes of which had been cut off 

 by a trap, and the wound scarcely healed. 



" Confound that fellow Mervyn ! " exclaimed Sir Lucius 

 Gwynne ; " he wants a devilish good horsewhipping — making 

 fools of all the field, this morning, with that bagman, and trap- 

 ping every fox that puts his nose within his boundaries ! Egad, 

 gentlemen, I propose we all have a day's shooting in his pre- 

 serves, and see how he will like our spoiling his s2)ort." 



" Ay, ay ! " responded several voices — " serve him right ! — 

 we will join you any day at that fun ! " 



" Stop a little, Gwynne," said Sir Francis ; " give him 

 another chance ; and if we don't find a sound fox the next 

 time the hounds draw Marston, put my name on the list for the 

 shooting party." 



When the fox was thrown to the hounds. Will Beauchamp 

 rode up to Mr. Stiles, and shaking him by the hand, thanked 

 him for the fox found in his covert. 



" Welcome, squire, welcome to a dozen, if I could keep 'em 

 there ! We had a fine litter bred this season in that patch of 

 gorse, but they're all trapped, save the old dog, which the 

 hounds are now eating." 



" I'm sorry to liear it, Stiles," replied Beauchamp ; " but 

 we know your good disposition to the foxes, although your 

 neighbours won't allow you to keep them." 



" Ah 1 " sneered Yernon to a friend, or rather guest of Lord 

 Mervyn's ; "that fellow, Beauchamp, wins the hearts of those 

 clodhoppers, the farmers, by shaking their dirty hands." 



" Handling the plough is not half such dirty work as 

 handling the dice-box!" exclaimed a dashing young farmer, 

 who overheard Vernon's remarks. 



" And who are you 1 — you insolent blackguard ! " demanded 

 VernoUj turning sharply round upon himf 



