CHAPTER XI 
THE WEARING OF THE SHAMROCK AND ROSE 
March io. — I saw such a pretty sight to-day — the hounds 
in full cry down by the river and up the ploughed field on 
the other side, with pink coats riding along in the road 
beyond ; the sound of the horn echoed through the clear 
air, and we watched it all from the plantation, wondering 
whether the hunt would come our way ; the sky was very 
blue and dappled with white, there were lingering white 
snow-wreaths along under the hedgerows, while the sun 
was shining brightly. It was a very pretty and picturesque 
sight. One day even the huntsman lost the hounds, and 
when the hunt picked them up again they were hunting in 
fine style all by themselves and pressing Reynard hard. 
But he escaped. I think I may admit I was glad, since 
one should be generous to a foe who struggles gallantly. It 
is curious that the local prophetic saws about the abundance 
of haws and thin skin of Onions I noted some months 
back should have been so speedily and thoroughly verified ; 
it makes me think there is sometimes more truth than 
people imagine in what are sometimes despised as vulgar 
fancies about natural things. 
March 17. — St. Patrick’s Day. Everything white with 
snow again, but the sun shining brightly. We had in the 
village school to-day a little show of things of interest 
connected with the war — the Queen’s Chocolate-box 
presented to Boy’s elder brother, sent home for safe 
keeping; ostrich-eggs, with local flowers painted on them, 
from Cape Colony, a Puff-adder’s skin, fragments of a 
Boer shell, and even a Boer vrouw’s pink cotton sun- 
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