CHAPTER XL 



THE FROST 



So full of frost, of storm. — Much Ado About Nothing. 



It has come at last, and that in good earnest, 

 and old hunting men have seen the signs of it 

 for a week past. Day after day there has been a 

 scent, and wet mornings have changed to fine 

 evenings with just a snap of frost, or else the rain 

 has, at some time of the day, given signs of 

 changing to snow. Day after day, too, the 

 thermometer has registered a minimum of a 

 degree or two of frost, and this has generally 

 made its appearance in the early morning. "Yes, 

 it's sharp enough now, sir," my groom has said 

 morning after morning, " but there was not much 

 frost till after seven of the clock." All this 

 pointed to a stoppage of hunting, and now the 

 stoppage has come. I think there could not be a 

 more conclusive sign that the stoppage has come 

 to last a little while than the sight I saw the other 

 morning. As I was passing the Club I saw three 

 of our hardest riders earnestly consulting together 

 and looking at something. It was not a ther- 

 mometer either. It was their respective bicycles 

 which were occupying their attention. Now I 

 question greatly whether any of the gentlemen to 



