GRASS COUNTRIES. 263 



on in the grassy valley of Newnham. A timid few were 

 huddled at a none too stoutly barred gateway when the whip 

 took it in his stride, with Mr. Pallin after him, while Mr. 

 Newbold flew the well built hedge beside. A new aspect 

 was quickly given to the scene. Men were once more riding 

 fast to hounds, over grass that was fit for them and fences of 

 the good old pattern. But the Everdon drain, it would seem, 

 had been a dry earth till the recent rain and a well-set gallop 

 was nipped in its early bloom. 



Now I will venture on a bit of hearsay as I have it, 

 and with full permission from the mouth of my intimate who 

 waited while the terrier was at work. Well, he had a very big 

 cigar alight much bigger than he usually smokes even after 

 dinner. But he meant to do his duty by it, and he had 

 worked conscientiously to within an inch of his lips, when a 

 banging great fox with wet brush like a heavy mop, ran almost 

 between his legs. " Up you get, guv'nor ! " urged a keen 

 farmer himself already seated for action. "Jump on, man, 

 dang it ! There'll be a rare jam at the gate." So my friend 

 Jenkins* withal he is a careful, not to say needy, man 

 dropped the burning fragment, and scrambled breathlessly into 

 his roomy saddle. The old horse had nearly finished his nap, 

 and while Jenkins smoked was solacing himself with a chew 

 from the greensward when the sudden excitement nearly 

 swept the pair off their feet. Jenkins' spurs were clapped to 

 with a degree of vigour that he only realised when he found 

 himself competing down a well-nigh perpendicular hill, for the 

 gate into the road through which and its choked assemblage 

 the pair went like a bolt. But their ambition was only 

 roused, their courage just afire. Was not the moptailed fox in 

 view beyond, and the whole maddening furore of the chase in 

 noisy vigour at his heels ? Jenkins is not a young man ; nor, 

 as he pleads now, a naturally bold one. But Jenkins was on 

 fire ! Jenkins must go. Stand aside, cravens. Jenkins is 

 intent ! The fence is low the ditch a conundrum and artfully 



* For Jenkins read Brooksby. 



