His Own Petard 93 



well to the left of hounds, which were swmging round ; 

 Charlton was also close up, and a couple of others, no 

 friends of Perkinson, were next. A hard-riding farmer 

 headed the rest, and the field straggled a little already, 

 for the pace had been very good. Yes ! Now it is 

 coming ! The first half-dozen, Perkinson saw, were over 

 a little brook, little more than a drain ; the bog was just 

 beyond. What a spectacle the trimly turned out dandies 

 would be, soaked in that black mud ! A dozen lengths 

 more, half-a-dozen, and .... 



How it happened it is impossible to say. No thought 

 of where he was going had come into Perkinson' s head. 

 His eyes were eagerly bent on the men he disliked, who 

 were on the point of making such grotesque exhibitions 

 of themselves, when they all disappeared from his view 

 with amazing suddenness. A^liere was he ? His arms 

 and legs — worse still, his eyes and nose, were buried in 

 filthy slime, a fact he ascertained when he had succeeded 

 in getting his head out of the mess. He was flat on the 

 ground, and such ground ! in fact, it was not ground at 

 all. His horse was struggling frantically by his side, 

 and as he opened his mouth to take a deep breath a dis- 

 gusting clot, thrown up by the terrified animal, went 

 half down his throat. He was alone, and a glance to 

 the left showed him the field galloping on after the 

 hounds, which latter were hidden from view, his point of 

 sight being at the moment low. There could be no sort 

 of doubt about what had taken place. He had brought 

 the hounds — confound the brutes ! — into this country to 

 bog his followers ; they had escaped, and he was bogged 

 himself ! His first impulse was to shout, but that he 

 checked ; yet, what was he to do ? The foot of his 



