112 THE LIFE OF A FOX 



morning early last season, when lying in a covert 

 called Bushen Glen, I was startled by hearing a 

 man riding quickly by. He then suddenly stopped 

 and addressed these few words to the whipper-in, 

 who brought the hounds. 



" How long have you been here ? " 



"Just come, my lord." 



" Is Mr. Smith here ? " 



" Not yet, my lord." 



" Well, I never was so thoroughly drenched ; 

 never rode twenty-four miles in such a deluge ; so, 

 by Jove, I can't wait. Give me my horse." 



No sooner done, than " Cover hoick ! " reached 

 my astonished ears, and I instantly left my kennel 

 prepared for a start. In a few minutes I was 

 stealing away, and after clearing the wall and 

 running in the open moor, I passed near the gentle- 

 man, I suppose, who was expected, and who, on 

 seeing me, said not a word. I therefore, thinking 

 I was unseen, did not turn back to the covert, but, 

 laying my ears well back on my poll, took straight 

 away across the moor, and just had a ghmpse of the 

 hounds and their noble huntsman. Lord Elcho,^ 

 topping the wall at the same time. My flight, 



1 Father of the present Earl of Wemyss. He continued to hunt 

 this country till about 1868. 



