52 THE CREAM OF LEICESTERSHIRE. [Season 



some slight amends for their past error. A blast of the horn 

 reaches them as they awake to the situation. It may be meant 

 for the recall or for a farewell blessing. There are only two 

 of them to accept the honour thrust upon them — Mr. Paulet, 

 of Theddingworth and another. Weight for age they are 

 riding; and the big, powerful horse of the former crashes 

 easily through a close-grown bullfinch that nearh' wrenches 

 the lighter man from his five-j'ear-old. Side by side they 

 settle down to keep within distance of the flying pack, with 

 whom they can just grapj)le when the ridges of the old grass 

 pastures give them firm galloping ground, but who fairly head 

 them when they cross the soppy furrows. The fox has turned 

 away from Loatland Wood, and AVaterloo is now his point ; 

 every jump requires more covering, and ever}^ fence has fewer 

 vulnerable points to catch the eye ; while with a swift, cease- 

 less i^rattling like that of running water, hounds are sweeping 

 across the Oxendon Lordship with a head almost an acre 

 broad. 



Within two fields of Waterloo, a hedge-cutter brandishes his 

 tomahawk in the face of the gallant fugitive, and turns him 

 away towards Oxendon village. Shepherds and nondescripts 

 there are on every hill, and everj'^ quarter of a mile brings a 

 holloa over the vale ; but the hounds will notice nothing but 

 what they can tell for tliemselves, and drive at their fox till it 

 seems as if each minute must be his last. And what grand good 

 heart and pluck he must possess to stand before them thus ! 

 He is going, after twenty minutes, as though he were just 

 starting with half a mile's law. They have never hesitated, 

 and they have never dwelt ; but he has gained ground rather 

 than lost it, and neither of the fortunate ones will handle his 

 brush yet. Pull her together, and let the spurs make her 

 forget she is blown ! One chestnut pitches on to her head at 

 that corner, while the other takes half a minute to get his hind 

 legs after him out of the broad chasm that yawned for him. 

 Greasy as bacon is the approach to the hog-backed stile under 

 Oxendon Windmill ; but the fence is impracticable elsewhere. 



