A BLANK DAY 211 



thick and strong, snugly situated, the very place 

 for a fox. Anxiously you await the note which 

 proclaims that a fox is on foot, but you await it in 

 vain. Not a note, not even a whimper is heard, 

 and as hounds are drawn out you remark that it is 

 a strange thing they did not find him. Never 

 mind, there are some likely - looking spinneys 

 within easy distance. Your horse has negotiated 

 a fence or two and cleverly jumped a wide drain 

 on the way, and by the time you reach them 

 you have forgotten your first disappointment of 

 the morning. So all eagerness again, you are on 

 the look-out for a start. But " first catch your 

 hare," as the great Mrs. Glasse hath it, and you 

 have to find your fox before you can run him. 

 One plantation after another is drawn in vain. 

 Surely, say you, " there will be a fox in that thick 

 undergrowth," as hounds are put into a particularly 

 promising piece of covert. But no ; again are 

 you doomed to disappointment. The last of those 

 likely -looking spinneys is drawn blank. "It is 

 half-past one o'clock and the best part of the day 

 is gone," you remark, as you pull out your sand- 

 wich case and console yourself with a pull out of 

 your flask. Then comes the generally hopeless 

 quest, looking for a fox in turnip fields. I have 

 seen many a fox found in turnip fields, of course, 

 but I generally find that when the coverts are for- 

 saken for the turnips it is a bit of a forlorn hope. 

 Still you hope for the best, and after half an hour 

 or more has been spent in this way without result 

 you wonder what next. Master and huntsman 

 hold a consultation, and you are let in for a long 

 trot down green lanes, and now and then a short 

 cut across country, on which occasions your horse 



