24 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



alive to the sound of the horn. He had travelled nearly 

 the length of the wood, and was coming back, with the 

 grand dog pack hard at his heels, before we had properly 

 surmounted the ridge above the covert. John Boore's 

 signal-horn and George's clear scream brought the Master 

 back to cheer hounds as they threaded the laurels and 

 passed the house. Then, as they worked through the 

 roadside wood, we stood on the hilltop gazing our fill 

 upon the wide blue vista, upon the verge of which we 

 could see Rugby's water tower and steeple. Little did we 

 expect so soon to be near them. Peering round the 

 woodside we could just command, past the red-oak 

 foliage, the first green pasture in the Flecknoe direction. 

 Many a fox has stolen away here. Yonder they go — three 

 couple of them — and the rest close after. To scramble 

 down the hillside, round by the lodge, and down the 

 turnpike road was no dilatory or difficult job. Then some 

 evil spirit seemed to have come out to fiy in the faces of 

 those earliest in the road. With few exceptions, they 

 turned back — for a gate. Had they gone with Mr. John 

 Arkwright, Capt-. Riddell, and Lord Willoughby, they 

 might yet have had a gate, and a start, too. The first — 

 high-bushed — fence might possibly have stopped them, 

 had not Mr. Arkwright (in answer to the artful query, 

 "Will your horse face it?") responded by knocking the 

 strong dead thorns to smithereens. Down the valley 

 hounds went, 'twixt the canal and Flecknoe, on whose hill 

 there was shouting already. The fox had not come near 

 the keen villagers ; but that mattered not to them. They 

 had seen him ; felt that they had fully earned a right to 

 " View holloa " ; and by so doing very possibly they kept his 

 head forward for Rugby. Lord Willoughby had to lift his 

 pack forward through sheep and oxen and across the canal. 

 Then they were on a fair, delectable plain. Gaily they 

 made use of it, both hounds and their ready, eager field. 



Soon we found ourselves popping over the same 

 fences that last winter barred us one day from Calcot or 

 Sawbridge (I forget at the moment which) with disastrous 

 wire. Now they were open and inviting, and the pace 

 sufficient. But ah ! we remembered that horrid, muddy 



