206 SPORTING REMINISCENCES 



He saw her engulfed in the sea of prickly green, 

 and then he went home, slowly and unhappily 

 ... to go early in the morning to give warning. 



But next day the Hunt came to the gorse. It 

 was a lovely day, a pale blue sky, cloud-flecked, 

 with a sun making the country look too clearly 

 cut for the fine weather to last. 



Old Mrs. Cassidy had again left her house. 

 She did not wait with the rest of the onlookers 

 close to the gorse, but had poised her unwieldy 

 self on a stumpy green bank, which was generally 

 the first fence to be jumped out of the covert. 



Absolutely sure that there could be no hunt, 

 she waited for the yell of some poor beast in torture 

 or the carrying out of the stiffened corpse of her 

 enemy the fox and the subsequent excitement. 



The Master eyed the old lady and swallowed 

 what he meant to say to her at a whisper from a 

 man close by. 



A whimper rose from the gorse. Mrs. Cassidy 

 stood up well pleased. It deepened, was echoed 

 and confirmed. Came the chorus of hounds close 

 on a fox, and glimpses of pied heads as they leaped 

 through the close furze. 



A big dog fox shpped out, eyed Mrs. Cassidy 

 with complete contempt, and loped past her over 

 the bank . . . one note on the horn scarcely 

 needed, and hounds simply poured out, dwelt 

 for a moment and were away on a red-hot scent. 



Yow ya yap. They charged the bank. 



