VERY EARLY HUNTING DAYS 7 



I heard interested me so that I moved a little, but 

 still keeping close to the chestnut. Presently I 

 began to connect the shrieks with myself as I saw 

 Hewitt, the English trainer, flying along at his 

 hobbling run, and several men armed with sticks 

 behind. 



Then I suppose I got out and explained. Sarse- 

 field, head hanging over me, knew that he was 

 quite reformed. What they told me I can't 

 remember, how he let Hewitt come up, and, 

 though he laid back his ears when they dragged 

 me away, directly I came back he was quite 

 good-humoured again. I believe they got me to 

 lead him in when he was stabled, but he ate no 

 more men, and learnt to be a brilliant if not 

 a bold hunter. There was always a stop in him 

 if he was not going fast. The only remnants 

 of his evil mind consisted in blocking any- 

 one's hat who was taking up his forelegs. He 

 used to do it so neatly and quietly, and never 

 brought his old hoof forward if a man was bare- 

 headed. 



This same Hewitt, a crippled little creature 

 who had broken almost every bone in his body, 

 used to hunt old Sarsefield, and I could show 

 anyone a mad jump he took on him. It is close 

 to Fedamore. A low hedge which one drops over 

 in a boreen with a broad shallow ditch fencing 

 the boreen at the far side. 



But Mr. Hewitt thundered at it down hill, with 



