An August Morning 



and soon the practised ear of the sportsman tells 

 him that the pack is running in two or three lots. 

 Now near, now at the far end of the wood, the 

 pack swinging round with their foxes, and carry- 

 ing a rare head, there is plenty to think about 

 now. 



Presently the undergrowth is seen to move, 

 and with ears pricked and listening for the 

 pack, a cub creeps stealthily across the ride and 

 makes for the main earths which, of course, are 

 stopped. The pack, which has for some time 

 past been at the far end of the wood, is now 

 rapidly approaching the main earth; on the 

 right a fox bustles over the ride in very different 

 manner to the stealthy fashion of the first; in 

 another minute a fox in a still greater hurry has 

 crossed to the left, and the pack, about evenly 

 divided, are screaming after them, and you are 

 glad that you did not halloa at that first fox. 

 Still more pleased are you when the huntsman 

 trots up, quiet and self-contained, asks how 

 many foxes you have seen as if he were asking 

 about sheep and says, when you describe the 

 half-beaten foxes that have crossed the ride just 



3i 



