ildren," she replied; "particularly for
children who know what they are about. Plato has told me that if I
desired to see all of the hunt without much trouble, to follow you. I am
selfish, you perceive."

We rode over the red hills and under the russet trees until we came to
"Old Sandy's" favorite haunt. Here a council of war was held, and it was
decided that Tom and a portion of the hunters should skirt the fields,
while another portion led by Miss de Compton and myself should enter and
bid the fox good morning. Uncle Plato, who had been given the cue,
followed me with the dogs, and in a few moments we were very near the
particular spot where I hoped to find the venerable deceiver of dogs and
men. The hounds were already sallying hither and thither, anxious and
evidently expectant.

Five minutes went by without a whimper from the pack. There was not a
sound save the eager rustling of the dogs through the sedge and
undergrowth. The ground was familiar to Flora, and I watched her with
pride as with powerful strides she circled around. Suddenly she paused
and flung her head in the air, making a beautiful picture where she
stood poised, as if listening. My heart gave a great thump. It was a
trick of hers, and I knew that "Old Sandy" had been around within the
past twenty-four hours! With a rush, a bound, and an eager cry, my
favorite came toward us, and the next moment "Old Sandy," who had been
lying almost at our horses' feet, was up and away with Flora right at
his heels. A wild hope seized me that my favorite would run into the shy
veteran before he could get out of the field. But no! One of the Jasper
county hunters, rendered momentarily insane by excitement, endeavored to
ride the fox down with his horse, and in another moment Sir Reynard was
over the fence and into the woodland beyond, followed by the hounds.
They made a splendid but [v]ineffectual burst of speed, for when "Old
Sandy" found himself upon the blackjack hills he was foot-loose. The
morning, however, was fine--just damp enough to leave the scent of the
fox hanging breast high in the air, whether he shaped his course over
lowlands or highlands.

[Illustration: The Beginning of the Fox Hunt]

In the midst of all the confusion that had ensued, Miss de Compton
remained cool, serene, and apparently indifferent, but I observed a
glow upon her face and a sparkle in her eyes, as Tom Tunison, riding his
gallant gray and heading the hunters, easily and gracefu