DEVON AND SOMERSET. 143 



pace ! Now, my old friend, you must look alive, 

 or they will be at your haunches in a few 

 minutes. Splash, splash, jump, splash, stagger, 

 jump — all the way down over Buscombe, a 

 treacherous drainage gutter, and as blind as a 

 bag, every twenty-two yards, to say nothing of 

 cross ones. "I've seen many a fall hereabouts," 

 says Arthur, by way of encouragement, and one 

 can quite believe it too. Here's the Trout Hill 

 fence, and the ground is a little sounder. See, 

 here thev crossed ; there's the stag's great slot 

 and the hound's pads, but the hinds are parted ; 

 now we shall have sport. Away down Trout 

 Hill as hard as we can go, for the top Badg- 

 worthy crossing. There's a whipper-in galloping 

 in the grassy corner of Manor Allotment opposite. 

 He stops ! there are two white dots beside him. 

 He has stopped 'em, and all is well. The held 

 come speeding up from Badgworthy Water full 

 of eager enquirv, and delight spreads from face 

 to face as the news flies from one to another 

 that the big stag has been fairly separated and 

 driven away at last, for the interval of waiting 

 on Hoccombe Hill has been long and cold 

 and dreary, and there is now every prospect of 

 a brilliant run. In a very few^ minutes hounds 

 have been brought from the Doone Valley, 

 Anthony has changed horses, and they are off 

 like pigeons just as the ominous growl of an 

 approaching thunderstorm makes itself heard. 



