My First Pony. 39 



scratched, and the blood dripping down on my 

 once white ducks. I saw the huntsman talking 

 to my father and laughing. 



"Come here, youngster," said the former. 

 ''You are a plucked un', anyhow; but I 

 thought you were doing your best to spoil 

 our sport." 



The whipper-in then daubed my face with 

 his bloody fingers and gave me the brush, 

 which I crammed into my pocket. I saw one 

 gentleman take out his watch and say to 

 another, "Just thirty-three minutes." Another 

 I heard say to a friend, looking at me as he 

 spoke, " A very brilliant thing." What a little 

 fool I was, I'll be hanged if I did not think 

 his alkision had some reference to me ; but on 

 asking the governor, he quickly undeceived me. 



How^ever, I was now a fox-hunter duly 

 entered to fox-hounds, and that with perhaps 

 the finest pack in the world, for they were the 

 far-famed Badminton hounds. I soon after saw 

 my father taking what I thought was an oppor- 

 tunity of shaking hands with the whip ; but as 

 he touched his cap, and afterwards fumbled 

 his hand to his waistcoat pocket, I conclude 

 it was something more substantial. Not long 



