170 MELTON AND HOMESPUN 



Having recovered from his temporary fit of churlish- 

 ness, and delighted with the manner in which the lady 

 had ridden, the Master approached her, somewhat 

 sheepishly it must be confessed, with the " brush " and 

 an apology. 



" Pray don't apologise, sir," was the smiling reply. 

 " You simply mistook my favourite hunter for a camel, 

 and I your foxhounds for fox-terriers. It seems we were 

 both mistaken. Thanks awfully for the brush." 

 ******* 



The huntsman of a certain old-established pack of 

 foxhounds, kennelled within thirty miles of London, 

 was laid up with an attack of influenza, and the new 

 Master, who entertained a far better opinion of his 

 capabilities as an amateur huntsman and horseman 

 than did the majority of the members of the hunt, 



elected to carry the horn until such time as Tom was 



able to take to the saddle again. 



Now truth to tell, Mr. L , like the immortal 



Jorrocks, had spent a considerable portion of his existence 

 amongst bricks and mortar, and knew far more about the 

 wine and spirit trade than he did of the huntsman's 

 craft. Indeed, he knew but the name of one solitary 

 hound only of his pack of twenty-seven couples, to 

 wit, " Tiger," an old Welsh hound, whom Tom, the 

 huntsman, declared would hunt anything from a shrew- 

 mouse to an elephant, was too slow for a parish 

 funeral, and ought to have been drafted out of the pack 

 years ago. 



The meet, which happened to be in the market-square 

 of a small country town, attracted quite a large number 

 of sportsmen and sportswomen, who, needless to add, 



