224 rate's day with the old horse 



had come with afternoon and hope deferred. Every- 

 thing suggested that fox-hunting was an overrated 

 amusement. 



Little by little the hounds had drawn away from 

 the Hall and its overstocked coverts, until now, at 2 

 p.m., they were thrown into a small outlying wood, 

 where pheasants were never reared and rarely shot. 



At last there was a doubtful whimper ; then a 

 hard -looking man in mufti (a local horse dealer) 

 stood up in his stirrups and held his hat high above 

 his head. A dozen keen pair of eyes saw the signal, 

 and though no foolish halloa imperilled their chance 

 of a run, the light and colour came back into the 

 men's faces, and they forgot in a moment the 

 miseries of the morning as they marked the lithe 

 red form of reynard steal out of covert, and with a 

 whisk of his grey- tagged brush, make off leisurely, 

 with his head set straight for the stiffest line in the 

 county. 



By this time the first doubtful whimper had been 

 caught up and repeated in fuller and more certain 

 tones, and there was little need of the horn to call 

 loiterers from covert. 



One after another the beauties tumbled out in 

 hot haste, hackles up. For one moment each 

 seemed to dwell as he cleared the brakes, and then 

 with a rush they gathered to where old Monitor had 



