HUNTINGCROP HALL 283 



a line of willows in front of us which we are 

 rapidly nearing. It means water, I know. We 

 get — or rather it comes nearer — nearer — nearer — 

 ah-h-h ! An agony of semi-unconsciousness — a 

 splash, a fearful splash — a struggle . . . 



I am on his back, somewhere in the nei^^hbour- 

 hood of the saddle : without stirrups, but grimly 

 clutching a confused mass of reins as The Sultan 

 gently canters up the ascent to where the hounds 

 are howling and barking round a man in pink, who 

 waves somethino' brown in the air before throwing 

 it to them. I have no sooner reached the group 

 than the master arrives, followed by some four or 

 five men, conspicuous among whom is the Major. 



He hastens to me. To denounce me as an im- 

 postor ? Have I done anything wrong, or injured 

 the horse ? 



" I congratulate you, Smoothley, — I congratulate 

 you ! I promised you a run, and you've liad one, 

 and, by Jove ! taken tlie shine out of some of us. 

 My Lord " — to the master — " let me present my 

 friend, Mr Smoothley, to you. Did you see him 

 take the water ? You and I made for the Narrows, 

 but he didn't turn away, and went at it as if 

 Sousemere w^ere a puddle. Eighteen feet of water 

 if it's an inch, and with such a take-off and such a 

 landing, there's not a man in the hunt who'd 



