t he had rubbed a friend over with
anise-seed, and offered that dainty morsel to his dogs. The victim was
snatched away again, however, by some officious underling, who justified
his interference upon the ground that the hounds would have been spoiled
by such an indulgence; and the Squire had pardoned him. This was one of
the stories about the Master of Crompton which divided the country into
those who believed it and those who did not; but Walter Grange had told
it to Richard as a characteristic fact.

The stables were indeed a marvel, not only of cleanliness and comfort,
but, if it had been possible by any arts of daintiness to make them
cox-combs, such would Carew's horses have become. They had
looking-glasses in their own glossy coats, and yet it was not well for
one of them to be an especial favorite with its master, for it more than
once happened that he would ride such so often and so long that it fell
under him, killed with kindness, overwhelmed with his oppressive favor.
On such occasions, if the Squire happened to have been as devoted as
usual to his brandy flask, he would shed copious tears, which many
instanced as a proof that he was neither selfish nor cold-hearted.

The kennels were of vast proportions, hedged in by high palisades,
through the interstices of which many a black muzzle now protruded,
sniffing like ill-tempered women, or uttering shrill whines of despair.
As Yorke, with his hands buried in his pockets, for they were cold,
though his head was too well provided with clustering hair to be
conscious of the absence of a hat, was contemplating this spectacle with
cynical amusement, up strode the chaplain, wholesome and ruddy-looking.

"You are up betimes--as Crompton hours go--Mr. Yorke; I hope such good
habits will not be undermined by evil associations. How I envy you your
constitution, to be able to face this November mist with a bare head!"

"Nay, parson," rejoined the young man, "you must have risen early
yourself to know that there _was_ a mist. It's clear enough now all
round. I suppose our impatient friends yonder," pointing to the kennel,
where all the dogs, hearing the chaplain's voice, were now in full
chorus, "will have their will this morning?"

"Yes; it is this pack's turn to hunt."

"I wish, for your sake, Mr. Whymper, that there was only one pack,"
observed Yorke, with good-natured earnestness.

"Ah, you are referring to that foolish talk about the living last night.
Poor Ryl