il!' replied his lordship, feeling behind, where it
wasn't;' I'll tell you how that was: you see we went away like blazes from
Springwheat's gorse--nice gorse it is, and nice woman he has for a
wife--but, however, that's neither here nor there; what I was going to tell
you about was the run, and how I lost my tail. Well, we got away like
winking; no sooner were the hounds in on one side than away went the fox
on the other. Not a soul shouted till he was clean gone; hats in the air
was all that told his departure. The fox thus had time to run matters
through his mind--think whether he should go to Ravenscar Craigs, or make
for the main earths at Painscastle Grove. He chose the latter, doubtless
feeling himself strong and full of running; and if we had chosen his ground
for him he could not have taken us a finer line. He went as straight as an
arrow through Bramblebrake Wood, and then away down the hill over those
great enormous pastures to Haselbury Park, which he skirted, leaving
Evercreech Green on the left, pointing as if for Dormston Dean. Here he was
chased by a cur, and the hounds were brought to a momentary check. Frosty,
however, was well up, and a hat being held up on Hothersell Hill, he
clapped forrard and laid the hounds on beyond. We then viewed the fox
sailing away over Eddlethorp Downs, still pointing for Painscastle Grove,
with the Hamerton Brook lighting up here and there in the distance.

'The field, I should tell you, were fairly taken by surprise. There wasn't
a man ready for a start; my horse had only just come down. Fossick was on
foot, drawing his girths; Fyle was striking a light to smoke a cigar on his
hack; Blossomnose and Capon's grooms were fistling and wisping their
horses; Dribble, as usual, was all behind; and altogether there was such a
scene of hurry and confusion as never was seen.

'As they came to the brook they got somewhat into line, and one saw who was
there. Five or six of us charged it together, and two went under. One was
Springwheat on his bay, who was somewhat pumped out; the other was said to
be Hook. Old Daddy Longlegs skimmed it like a swallow, and, getting his
hind-legs well under him, shot over the pastures beyond, as if he was going
upon turf. The hounds all this time had been running, or rather racing,
nearly mute. They now, however, began to feel for the scent; and, as they
got upon the cold, bleak grounds above Somerton Quarries, they were fairly
brought to their noses.