Hunting Sketches 261 



field, and in a minute something moved — there was a 

 rush, a scramble, and a worry. We had to run some 

 distance after jumping off our horses before we could get 

 at them, for the hedge was a very thick, high bullfinch. 

 Alas, when we got there, it was the white fox that had 

 been killed, and it was so torn to pieces there was no 

 chance of getting it stuffed, as Sir Charles had always 

 intended to do whenever it should be caught. Up to 

 that moment no one had the least idea what fox it was 

 we were running ; but it had come home to die, for the 

 whin covert where it was born was but a few fields 

 further on. 



