Mister Bragg, rising in his stirrups with a gracious smile, passed a very
polite bow along the line.

'Here's a fine morning, Mr. Bragg,' observed Tom Washball, who thought it
knowing to talk to servants.

'Y_as_, sir,' replied Bragg, 'y_as_,' with a slight inclination to cap;
'_r-a-y_-ther more s_a_n, p'raps, than desirable,' continued he, raising
his face towards the heavens; 'but still by no means a bad day, sir--no,
sir--by no means a bad day, sir.'

'Hounds looking well,' observed Charley Slapp between the whiffs of a
cigar.

'Y_as_, sir,' said Bragg, 'y_as_,' looking around them with a
self-satisfied smile; adding, 'so they ought, sir--so they ought; if _I_
can't bring a pack out as they should be, don't know who can.'

'Why, here's our old Rummager, I declare!' exclaimed Spraggon, who, having
vaulted the iron hurdles, was now among the pack. 'Why, here's our old
Rummager, I declare!' repeated he, laying his whip on the head of a
solemn-looking black and white hound, somewhat down in the toes, and
looking as if he was about done.

'Sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied Bragg, leaning over his horse's shoulder, and
whispering into Jack's ear; 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but _drop_ that, sir, if
you please, sir.'

'Drop what?' asked Jack, squinting through his great tortoiseshell-rimmed
spectacles up into Bragg's face.

''Bout knowing of that 'ound, sir,' whispered Bragg; 'the fact is, sir--we
call him Merryman, sir; master don't know I got him from you, sir.'

'O-o-o,' replied Jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully than
before.

'Ah, that's the hound I offered to Scamperdale,' observed Puffington,
seeing the movement, and coming up to where Jack stood; 'that's the hound I
offered to Scamperdale,' repeated he, taking the old dog's head between his
hands. 'There's no better hound in the world than this,' continued he,
patting and smoothing him; 'and no better _bred_ hound either,' added he,
rubbing the dog's sides with his whip.

'How is he bred?' asked Jack, who knew the hound's pedigree better than he
did his own.

'Why, I got him from Reynard--no, I mean from Downeybird--the Duke, you
know; but he was bred by Fitzwilliam--by his Singwell out of Darling.
Singwell was by the Rutland Rallywood out of Tavistock Rhapsody; but to
make a long story short, he's lineally descended from the Beaufort
Justice.'

'Indeed!' exclaimed Jack hardly able to contain himself; 'that's undeniable
blood.'

'Well, I'm glad t