ert;
but in the wood it becomes a great question with a sportsman whether
he will stick to the pack or save his horse and loiter about till he
hears that a fox has been found. The latter is certainly the commoner
course, and perhaps the wiser. And even when the fox has been found
it may be better for the expectant sportsman to loiter about till
he breaks, giving some little attention to the part of the wood in
which the work of hunting may be progressing. There are those who
systematically stand still or roam about very slowly;--others, again,
who ride and cease riding by spurts, just as they become weary or
impatient;--and others who, with dogged perseverance, stick always to
the track of the hounds. For years past the Squire was to have been
found among the former and more prudent set of riders, but on this
occasion he went gallantly through the thickest of the underwood,
close at the huntsman's heels. "You'll find it rather nasty, Mr.
Newton, among them brakes," Cox had said to him. But the Squire had
answered that he hadn't got his Sunday face on, and had persevered.

They were soon on a fox in Barford Wood;--but being on a fox in
Barford Wood was very different from finding a fox in Barford Gorse.
Out of the gorse a fox must go; but in the big woods he might choose
to remain half the day. And then the chances were that he would
either beat the hounds at last, or else be eaten in covert. "It's a
very pretty place to ride about and smoke and drink one's friend's
sherry." That was Jack Graham's idea of hunting in Barford Woods, and
a great deal of that kind of thing was going on to-day. Now and then
there was a little excitement, and cries of "away" were heard. Men
would burst out of the wood here and there, ride about for a few
minutes, and then go in again. Cox swore that they had thrice changed
their fox, and was beginning to be a little short in his temper; the
whips' horses were becoming jaded, and the master had once or twice
answered very crossly when questioned. "How the devil do you suppose
I'm to know," he had said to a young gentleman who had inquired,
"where they were?" But still the Squire kept on zealously, and
reminded Ralph that some of the best things of the season were often
lost by men becoming slack towards evening. At that time it was
nearly four o'clock, and Cox was clearly of opinion that he couldn't
kill a fox in Barford Woods that day.

But still the hounds were hunting. "Darned if they ain'