ow that every
suggestion he made and every project he planned had for its sole end and
aim the enjoyment of Miss Carrie de Compton.

It was several days before the minor details of the contest, which was
at once the excuse for and the object of the visit of Tom's guests,
could be arranged, but finally everything was "[v]amicably adjusted,"
and the day appointed. The night before the hunt, the club and the
Jasper county visitors assembled in Tom Tunison's parlor for a final
discussion of the event.

"In order," said Tom, "to give our friends and guests an opportunity
fully to test the speed and bottom of their kennels, it has been decided
to pay our respects to 'Old Sandy'."

"And pray, Mr. Tunison, who is 'Old Sandy'?" queried Miss de Compton.

"He is a fox, Miss de Compton, and a tough one. He is a trained fox. He
has been hunted so often by the inferior packs in his neighborhood that
he is well-nigh [v]invincible. He is so well known that he has not been
hunted, except by accident, for two seasons. He is not as suspicious as
he was two years ago, but we must be careful if we want to get within
hearing distance of him to-morrow morning."

"Do any of the ladies go with us?" asked Jack Herndon.

"I go, for one," responded Miss de Compton, and in a few minutes all the
ladies had decided to go along, even if they found it inconvenient to
participate actively in the hunt.

"Then," said Tom, rising, "we must say good night. Uncle Plato will
sound 'Boots and Saddle' at four o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Four o'clock!" exclaimed the ladies in dismay.

"At four precisely," answered Tom, and the ladies with pretty little
gestures of mock despair swept upstairs while Tom brought out cigars for
the boys.

My friend little knew how delighted I was that "Old Sandy" was to be put
through his paces. He little knew how carefully I had studied the
peculiarities of this famous fox--how often when training Flora I had
taken her out and followed "Old Sandy" through all his ranges, how I
had "felt of" both his speed and bottom and knew all his weak points.

II

Morning came, and with it Uncle Plato's bugle call. Aunt Patience was
ready with a smoking hot breakfast, and everybody was in fine spirits.
As the eager, happy crowd filed down the broad avenue that led to the
hall, the fair de Compton, who had been delayed in mounting, rode by my
side.

"You choose your escort well," I ventured to say.

"I have a weakness for ch