is thinking it was certainly sport
that a young wife should ride to hounds in opposition to an old
husband. Mrs. Houghton followed him, and as they got out on the other
side, the fox was again away. "He ain't making for Pugsby's after all,"
said Price to George Scruby.

"He don't know that country yet," said the huntsman. "He'll be back in
them Manor Cross woods. You'll see else."

The park of Manor Cross lay to the left of them, whereas Pugsby and the
desirable grass country away to Bamham Moor were all to the right. Some
men mindful of the big brook and knowing the whereabouts of the bridge,
among whom was Mr. Houghton, kept very much to the right and were soon
out of the run altogether. But the worst of it was that though they
were not heading for their good country, still there was the brook,
Pugsby brook, to be taken. Had the fox done as he ought to have done,
and made for Pugsby itself, the leap would have been from grass to
grass; but now it must be from plough to plough, if taken at all. It
need hardly be said that the two things are very different. Sir Simon,
when he saw how the land lay, took a lane leading down to the
Brotherton road. If the fox was making for the park he must be right in
that direction. It is not often that a master of hounds rides for
glory, and Sir Simon had long since left all that to younger men. But
there were still a dozen riders pressing on, and among them were the
farmer and his devoted follower,--and a gentleman in black.

Let us give praise where praise is due, and acknowledge that young
Bottomley was the first at the brook,--and the first over it. As soon
as he was beyond Sir Simon's notice, he had scurried on across the
plough, and being both light and indiscreet, had enjoyed the heartfelt
pleasure of passing George Scruby. George, who hated Mr. Bottomley,
grunted out his malediction, even though no one could hear him. "He'll
soon be at the bottom of that," said George, meaning to imply in horsey
phrase that the rider, if he rode over ploughed ground after that
fashion, would soon come to the end of his steed's power. But
Bottomley, if he could only be seen to jump the big brook before any
one else, would have happiness enough for a month. To have done a thing
that he could talk about was the charm that Bottomley found in hunting.
Alas, though he rode gallantly at the brook and did get over it, there
was not much to talk about; for, unfortunately, he left his horse
behind him