Riding to Covert 317 



ing to watch them, for, if we mistake not, there is trouble 

 brewing for both. 



The carriages manoeuvre to get into line. Expectancy, 

 animation, joy, light every face, excepting only our 

 novice rider, who looks very serious and a trifle bewildered. 

 Fortunately, however, he has mounted in time to avoid a 

 misunderstanding with his horse, though one must confess 

 he went about it in a mechanical sort of way, impelled 

 rather by some force outside of himself than by any obvious 

 free will. 



The Master is most punctual ; there is no five minutes' 

 grace for late-comers. " Give them five and they will 

 want ten. No, sir ; not a minute," he declares. 



The town clock strikes the last stroke of eleven. Aeain 



o 



the huntsman's horn is blown. It is the signal to move on 

 to covert. 



Crack! The second whipper-in's thong rounds up the 

 scattering hounds to the huntsman's horse. Slowly the 

 cavalcade, headed by the huntsman and hounds, moves for- 

 ward, the first whipper-in riding ahead to the right, the 

 second whipper-in to the rear and left of the pack, or 

 in any place where he may be wanted to keep a lagging or 

 skulking hound in his place. 



All round is gay, — men, horses, dogs, — 

 And in each smiling countenance appear 

 Fresh-blooming health and universal joy. 



Following the hounds rides the Master, and to the right 

 and left, and following on behind, the riders by twos and 

 fours. Some drop back, others go forward to say a word 



