DORSETS STORY 79 



when the hounds were hunting me ; but another 

 season came, and great was the difference. I lay 

 in a favourite covert called Short Wood, when I 

 was startled by another voice instead of old Ben's, 

 that of the new huntsman, Treadwell's, clear and 

 beautiful — not so powerful as that which I had 

 been used to of late, nor was it vox et prceterea 

 nihil; for his system was one which soon made 

 me give up listening when the hounds were 

 pursuing. I found that I had now no longer 

 time to wait and hang about as I had done. I 

 was obhged to get away as fast as 1 could, and 

 had enough to do to escape from the new man, 

 whose coolness and perseverance frightened me. 

 My first escape was owing to an imperfect cast 

 which he made when the hounds had come to a 

 check in a field, where there was a flock of sheep, 

 for instead of taking the hounds entirely round and 

 close under the hedge, beginning at the left hand, 

 he missed that corner for about fifty yards, where 

 it happened that I had gone through the fence, 

 and by the time he had taken them close all round 

 every where else and held them on forward, time 

 was lost, and the hounds got on the scent exactly 

 opposite. Although it now became slow hunting, 

 I did not feel safe until I heard him blow his horn 



