The trap bumped and jostled. Sparks flew from Starlight's heels when they pounded the rough rocks; sparks flew from the wheels as they rolled over rock and hard red clay. Down in the valley, where the mist still clung like a veil above the clear brown stream, the little plank bridge rattled loudly as they flew over; and now, as they breasted the long high hill beyond, the frosty air echoed with the clear mellow music of a horn wound lustily and with the deep impatient bayings of the hounds. Frances leaned over the dashboard and shook the reins impatiently. "Get up, Starlight!" she cried. Again the horn wound its call--clear, shrill, the soul note of the frosty morning. Frances turned her head; behind her were horsemen clattering down the way; on the road which met hers at the hill-top she could hear the sharp sounds of beating hoofs. The sun was rolling up the gray clouds on the horizon's edge, and the blue vault overhead, with slow reluctance, was throwing off the soft veil of fleecy clouds; the gray of the early autumn morning was changing to opalescent hues above the mountain tops. The horsemen behind were closer, were abreast of her; she turned to see Lawson on one side, his fellow-student on the other. "Going to ride?" Lawson called, with a mischievous glance at the heavy trap. Frances shook her head, outwardly she was gay enough, inwardly she was fuming. Lawson's mount was irreproachable, so were his clothes. "Heard we went fox-hunting up here before he came," accused Frances mentally; "got them all ready for the occasion." But in truth Lawson was not conscious at all. He had lost his head, as every one else was doing, at the clattering hoof-beats and the insistent clarion-callings of the horn and the wild, impatient bayings of the hounds. On the plateau cresting the hill-top, the whole scene burst upon his view; roads from many directions met and intersected beneath the oaks, on all of them hunters were hurrying--women, men, dogs. Beyond showed the white façade of Orange Grove, the fence before the lawn lined with carriages. Frances was earlier than she thought. She turned in the road behind the master of the hounds, who, grown too stout for riding, had a nag and a buggy could race on any mountain-road. He leaned out and called back to her. "What are you driving for?" "Father wouldn't let me ride!" "Well, you can trot behind me," he laughed. As they drove past the front of the house, the big gate beyond the stable-yard was flung open and the whole train, horsemen, carriages, dogs, swept out on the open rolling hillside beyond. The master of the hounds drew off to the left. "Leave a space there! Clear the way there! That's where the fox will be started!" The crowd followed them to the field side. Lawson rode up to the trap. "What are they going to do?" he asked in bewilderment. Frances looked at him uncomprehendingly. She had been calling gay badinage to one and another of those about her.