HUNTINGCROP HALL 271 



up an excuse of some sort. Yes, I would go ; and 

 might good luck go with me. 



For the next few days I unceasingly studied the 

 works of Major Whyte-Melville, and others who 

 have most to say on what they term sport, and 

 endeavoured to get up a little enthusiasm. I did 

 get up a little — very little ; but when the desired 

 quality had made its appearance, attracted by my 

 authors' wizard-like power, it was of an extremely 

 spurious character, and entirely evaporated when I 

 arrived at the little railway station nearest to the 

 Hall. A particularly neat groom, whom I recog- 

 nised as having been in town with the Hunting- 

 crops, was awaiting me in a dogcart, and the con- 

 veyance was just starting when we met a string of 

 horses, hooded and sheeted, passing along the road : 

 in training, if I might be permitted to judge from 

 their actions, for the wildest scenes in " Mazeppa," 

 " Dick Turpin," or some other exciting equestrian 

 drama. I did not want the man to tell me that 

 they were his master's : I knew it at once ; and the 

 answers he made to my questions as to their usual 

 demeanour in the field plunged me into an abyss of 

 despair. 



The hearty welcome of the Major, the more sub- 

 dued but equally inspiriting greeting of his daughter, 

 and the contagious cheerfulness of a house full of 



