190. . 



have the kindness to imagine a couple of roads crossing an open 

 common, with an armless sign-post on one side, and a rubble-stone 

 bridge, with several of the coping-stones lying in the shallow stream 

 below, on the other. 



The country round about, if any country could have been seen, 

 would have shown wild, open, and cheerless. Here a patch of wood, 

 there a patch of heath, but its general aspect bare and unfruitful. 

 The commanding outline of Beechwood Forest was not visible for 

 the weather. Time now, let us suppose, half-past ten, with a full 

 muster of horsemen and a fog making unwonted dulness of the scene 

 — the old sign-pole being the most conspicuous object of the whole. 



Hark ! what a clamour there is about it. It's like a betting-post 

 at Newmarket. How loud the people talk ! what's the news ? Queen 

 Ann dead, or is there another French revolution, or a fixed duty on 

 corn? Reader, Mr. Pumngton's hounds have had a run, and the 

 Flat Hat men are disputing it. 



" Nothing of the sort ! nothing of the sort ! " exclaims Fossick, 

 " I know every yard of the country, and you can't make more nor 

 eight of it anyhow, if eight." 



" Well, but I've measured it on the map," replied the speaker 

 (Charley Slapp himself), " and it's thirteen, if it's a yard." 



" Then the country's grown bigger since my day," rejoins Fossick, 

 " for I was dropped at Stubgrove, which is within a mile of where you 

 found, and I've walked, and I've ridden, and I've driven every yard 

 of the distance, and you can't make it more than eight, if it's as much. 

 Can you, Capon ? " exclaimed Fossick, appealing to another of the 

 " flat brims," whose luminous face now shone through the fog. 



" No," replied Capon ; adding, " not so much, I should say." 



Just then up trotted Frostyface with the hounds. 



" Good morning, Frosty ! good morning ! " exclaimed half-a-dozen 

 voices, that it would be difficult to appropriate from the denseness of 

 the fog. Frosty and the whips make a general salute with their caps. 



" Well, Frosty, I suppose you've heard what a run we had yester- 

 day ? " exclaims Charley Slapp, as soon as Frosty and the hounds are 

 settled. 



" Had they, sir — had they ? " replies Frosty, with a slight touch 

 of his cap and a sneer. " Glad to hear it, sir — glad to hear it. 

 Hope they killed sir — hope they killed ? " with a still slighter touch 

 of the cap. 



" Killed, aye ? — killed in the open just below Crabstone Green, 

 in your country ; " adding, " It was one of your foxes, I believe." 



" Glad of it, sir — glad of it, sir," replies Frosty. " They wanted 

 blood sadly — they wanted blood sadly. Quite welcome to one of our 

 foxes, sir — quite welcome. That's a brace and a 'alf they've killed.'' 



" Brace and a ha-r-r-f ! " drawls Slapp, in well-feigned disgust ; 

 " brace and a ha-r-r-f ! — why, it makes them ten brace, and six run to 

 ground." 



