254 Cross Country with Horse and Hound 



out with him to see a fox-hunt. The thought of going 

 hunting in a buggy was quite foreign to my ideas of sport, 

 and I had less than half a heart in accepting the invitation. 

 The Doctor, on the other hand, was brimful of enjoyment. 

 He was not a riding man himself, the large rotundity of 

 his figure forbidding any activity in the saddle, but a keener 

 sportsman or a more enthusiastic one it would have been 

 hard to find. The meet was at the Hermitage, and we 

 were, unfortunately, too late to see the assembly. Hounds 

 had gone on to draw the Hermitage Wood. The doctor 

 was in a great state of agitation to think we had missed the 

 meet. However, we drove down the farm lane behind 

 the Fitzhugh manor-house, with a mere chance of their 

 coming north. In the meantime the good Doctor expa- 

 tiated to me on the subject of this " grand pack of hounds," 

 this " oldest hunt," " best horses," and " best cross-country 

 riders in America," working himself up to a higher and 

 higher pitch because I responded only in the most indiffer- 

 ent manner. He tried harder and harder to make me 

 appreciate the splendid opportunity I was enjoying. All 

 at once he brought his little black mare Kitty to a stand- 

 still and listened. 



" I hear them ! " he shouted, and stood up in his buggy 

 a little side-bar spider-like trap. I remember thinking 

 what would the Doctor do on a runway after deer or wild 

 turkey in the great forests of Michigan, if he made all this 

 fuss over a fox. 



"I do believe they are coming this way!" cried the Doc- 

 tor. " Don't you hear them ?" 



"Sit down!" I cried, "or you will be out on your head." 



