CHAPTER XV. 



The clock over the stables was striking seven as Miss Lavvy 

 emerged from the hall door and paused to take in the sur- 

 roundings. Everything was on a larger and more liberal 

 scale than that to which her eyes had been accustomed at 

 Dewthorpe ; the trees were grander and bore no traces of a 

 battle for existence ; the crops of grass were heavier, and the 

 shorthorn cattle lacked the rich Devon brown that she 

 loved. The air was fresh enough, but (perhaps it was fancy) 

 there seemed an absence of the crisp, invigorating ingre- 

 dients imparted by sea or moorland, or both, which belonged 

 to what she called her native land. 



Still it was a typical June morning, everything from the 

 bees in the lime trees to the rabbits skipping about the 

 neighbouring clumps seemed glad to be alive. 



But Miss Lavvy was bent upon the first steps towards 

 taking up the reins of responsibility, so she passed quickly 

 on, content to take things as she found them, and "the Re- 

 former " trotted at her heels. 



There was no need to ask her way to the kennels. More 

 than once her toilet had been disturbed by the necessity of 

 leaning out of the window to listen to the exhilarating sound 

 of hound voices. 



Joe Summers, in his white kennel coat, had long since 

 made his first tour of inspection. He was a man of strict 

 punctuality, consequently his subordinates were punctual too. 



" With hounds things must be done regular," he was wont 

 to say, so that everything was as spick and span as a hospital 

 ward. 



At the present moment he was approaching the corner of 

 7 97 



