146 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



I am not fond of hunting in frost, but I have been 

 ruthlessly sent out when it was far too hard to be 

 pleasant. 



" There is a gran' softness outside," Cuthbert 

 announces at the dining-room door, ** an' the frost 

 meltin' like buther. There is nothin' to sthop 

 the hunt." 



So I go out either to sUp or slide, or riding in a 

 squelchy slippery thaw and perhaps forget it all 

 when we have a hunt. 



" When me heel went into the ground without 

 hittin' me elbow, didn't I know it was right," 

 Cuthbert announces triumphantly in the evening. 



This is a free description of the ground not 

 jarring him. 



He loves dogs as much as horses and is as patient 

 with them. 



" These little fairies of hunt puppies, they 

 haven't left me a sponge or a rubber," he says 

 patiently. " Ah, ye httle vilyins," and he de- 

 taches the remnants of a stable rubber from sharp 

 teeth, merely patting a soft little head. He never 

 forgets anything, according to himself. 



" Did you give that mare her dose, Cuthbert, or 

 burn the tar ? " this when some horse has a cough. 



" Wasn't it better not be worryin' her an' she 

 improvin'." 



"Why didn't you do it?" knowing now he had not. 



" Someone whipped the owld bucket from me 

 that I puts the tar in." 



