3\Ir. Egerton Warburton 



have probably gone straight to the Foxes' kennel, for at 

 that moment one of the old doghounds proclaims with a 

 deep hoarse roar that * the game 's afoot/ This is quickly 

 endorsed by the lighter tone of one of the bitches, and in 

 less than two minutes they all have something to say. He 

 leads them straight to the corner where Ted the second 

 whipper-in is holloaing * Forrard away ' with all his might 

 and main. Another Fox ! The boy might have saved his 

 voice, for the pack swings to the left underneath the boun- 

 dary fence, glued to the one they found. You hear your 

 field holloaing him over the middle ride, and he sets his 

 head for Jim's hiding-place at the lodge. The Hounds 

 scream after him down the whole length of the covert, 

 but in spite of this, he thinks he has gained enough ground 

 by the turn in the covert to risk the open. Not only that, 

 the Hounds, the horses' hoofs, and the horn are making an 

 ugly demonstration in his rear. Jim now views him away 

 over the new London road, and you sound the long blast 

 more as an accompaniment to the chorus than as a summons 

 to the open, and emerge through the lodge gates just as 

 the last Hound is disappearing through the fence out of 

 the road. ' All on,' says the well-trained servant, and 

 you feel the good brown horse already balancing himself to 

 jump the fence. He canters up the grassy slope, with his 

 strong hocks underneath him, his head tucked into his 

 chest, and his perfect mouth playing with the bit as he 

 goes. 



The country is undulating, being a mixture of plough 



47 



