RIDING RECOLLECTIONS 



stands to listen, a perfect picture, with one pad 

 raised and his cunning head a-slant. Yes, he 

 recognised it from the first. The "Yooi, wind 

 him, and rouse him ! " of old Matthew's mellow 

 tones, not unknown in a gin-and-water chorus 

 when occasion warrants the convivial brew, yet 

 clear, healthy, and resonant as the very roar of 

 Challenger, who has just proclaimed his conscious- 

 ness of the drag, some five hours old. 



'Tis an experienced rover, and does not hesitate 

 for an instant. Stealing down the ravine, he 

 twists his agile little body through a tangled 

 growth of blackthorn and brambles, crosses the 

 stream dry - footed with a leap, and, creeping 

 through the fence that bounds his stronghold, 

 peers into the meadow beyond. No smart and 

 busy whip has "clapped forward" to view and 

 head him. Matthew, indeed, brings out but one, 

 and swears he could do better without him. So 

 the rover puts his sharp nose straight for the 

 solitude he loves, and whisking his brush defiantly, 

 resolves to make his point. 



He has been grone five minutes when the 

 clamour of the find reaches his ears, twice that 

 time ere the hounds are fairly out of covert on 

 his line ; so, with a clear head and a bold heart, 

 he has leisure to consider his tactics and to 

 remember the main earth at Crao^'s-end in the 

 forest, twelve miles off as the crow flies. 



214 



