66 THE BEST OF THE FUN 



they ran sharp from Staverton Wood, over a couple of 

 miles of stopping plough, to ground. Of the brace of 

 foxes at Braunston Gorse one gave us a two-mile scamper 

 in a circle ; the other, quite late in the evening, consented 

 to go forth to Welton and Norton (which the map will 

 tell you is not a far cry) and beat hounds at dark. So 

 we had seen several foxes found and hunted, and the few 

 brief minutes round Braunston were accepted gladly as a 

 taste of new life. 



On February 3rd all the world apparently came forth 

 to see what a Pytchley Wednesday might be like, and 

 accordingly made it, as is customary, a mammoth con- 

 course of smart men and women. As luck would have 

 it, Reynard entered fully into the arrangements, and took 

 them for a jaunt over some of the best and most open of 

 the Pytchley grass. Thus there was room for all and a 

 few more, while for half-an-hour or so they disported 

 themselves hither and thither between the two little coverts 

 of Lilbourne and Crick. Hounds had found at the former, 

 not by any means an easy place from which to start on 

 the part of a crowd of horse-people all bent upon doing 

 their best ; but their fox had met with equal difficulties, 

 and so the great phalanx was spread almost in line along 

 the road behind the church before hounds in any degree 

 settled to run. Then, as a swarm of bees after their hive- 

 master, they swept across the valley and over its tempting, 

 facile fences. If there was not a place for each enthusi- 

 astic rider, there was at least room enough that one should 

 not jump upon another, and the hounds went just fast 

 enough to keep themselves out of the way. As the course 

 swung wide from side to side, it took more than twenty 

 minutes to gain Hilmorton Covert, that we have often 

 seen reached in fifteen. From here to Crick Gorse, from 

 Crick Gorse to here and back again, occupied another 

 half-hour ; during which all hands enjoyed themselves, 

 and declared they should be very glad to come again. 

 Then, under a failing scent, Goodall worked his way 

 valiantly to Yelvertoft village, his progress thither remind- 

 ing one at times of nothing more closely than that of a 

 welsher being borne to immersion by a surging crowd — 



