FoX-HuNTlNG 2 I 1 



bockers showed that his knees had not escaped damage. 

 Johnny looked a rueful object as, still sobbing, he walked 

 down the road towards the farmhouse whither the man 

 was taking him, one spur lost, and the broken whip in 

 his hand. 



Meantime, Tommy had been going gaily, his pony 

 still fairly fresh, creeping and climbing where it could 

 not jump. Though he was some little way behind at 

 the time, he heard and understood the burst of delight 

 with which the hounds caught sight of their fox and ran 

 to view, and was just able to make out that the little red 

 beast popped safely into an earth which, luckily for him, 

 was open, when the leading hounds were within fifty 

 yards of him. 



The master's house being near, Tommy was asked 

 in to lunch, his pony having been eased of saddle and 

 bridle, and regaled with some welcome gruel. With 

 a hunter's appetite, Tommy w^alked into a most succulent 

 pork pie, and afterwards found and made the very 

 intimate acquaintance of a cake which was precisely to 

 his taste. With a tip of half a sovereign, a kindly shake 

 of the hand, and promise that they would make a sports- 

 man of him, Tommy was sent on his way rejoicing ; 

 while Johnny, ignominiously driven home by a plough- 

 boy in the farmer's tax cart, was sent to bed with the 

 information — the facts of the case having been mean- 

 time gathered — that he deserved what he had got and a 

 sound thrashing into the bargain for his cruelty to the 

 pony. Johnny, stiff and sore, sobbed himself to sleep, 

 and now thinks that hunting is an absurdly overrated 

 sport ; but little Tommy Stout is keener than ever, and 

 he and the pony are equally conviiiced that fox-hunting 



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