From Fox's Earth 



ing. Dark was the busy time. Fishing was all 

 night long. At this early hour of the morning, 

 the baskets were fairly well stocked. In the 

 shortening autumn twilight, the rise set in and 

 sport began. Sea trout abounded. Nor had 

 they it all to themselves. Other, and still keener 

 night fishers, were there. For fellow-sportsmen 

 they had three otters, almost as many as the 

 men. This was hopeful, and no less hopeful than 

 true. 



Soon the hounds found where the otters had 

 been on the bank. The music sounded. And 

 a hot darg led up the tidal waters. It was ex- 

 hilarating to hear the streamside music, to feel 

 the ringing in the heart. The deeper bell tones 

 showed that the old dog had joined the pack. A 

 like bell, only higher pitched, rang in the throat 

 of the second hound. The crosses' bark was 

 prolonged into a howl. 



The camera was present, only the hour was 

 early, the light grey, the scene shaded, and the 

 presentment dim. Over a loose and decayed 

 dam of stones the stream broke, spreading into 

 a charming waterscape, and parting to isolate a 

 piece of land. Islet and shimmering pool were 

 set in a high bank with a semicircular sweep of 

 white willows. Through the maze ran or swam 

 the dogs. In the midst stood the red-coated 

 huntsman. The otter had retired up one or other 

 of two culverts, where nothing could reach him. 



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