JUST as the old buck was resuming the thread of his fashionable high-life narrative, preparatory to sounding Billy about the Major and his family, the same sort of electric thrill shot through the field that characterised the terrible “g-n-r along—don’t you see the hounds are running?” de Glancey day with the Earl. Billy felt all over he-didn’t-know-how-ish—very wish-he-was-at-home-ish. The horse, too, began to caper. The thrill is caused by a shilling’s-worth of wide-awake on a stick held high against the sky-line of the gently-swelling hill on the left, denoting that the wild beast is found, causing the Major to hold up his hat as a signal of reply, and all the rest of the field to desist from their flopping and thistle-whipping, and rein in their screws for the coming conflict. “Now s-s-sir!” exclaims the stuttering Major, cantering up to our Billy all flurry and enthusiasm. “Now, s-s-sir! we ha-ha-have her, and if you’ll fo-fo-follow me, I’ll show you her,” thinking he was offering Billy the greatest treat imaginable. So saying the Major drops his hands on White Surrey’s neck, rises in his stirrups, and scuttles away, bounding over the gorse bushes and broom that intervened between him and the still stick-hoisted tenpenny. **** “_Where is she?_” demands the Major. “_Where is she!_’ repeats he, coming up. “A Major, he mun gi’ us halfe-croon ony ho’ this time,” exclaims our friend Tom Springer, whose head gear it is that has been hoisted. “Deed mun ye!” asserts Pitfall, who has now joined his companion. “_No, no!_” retorts the Major angrily, “I said a shillin’—a shillin’s my price, and you know it.” “Well, but consider what a time we’ve been a lookin’ for her, Major,” replied Springer, mopping his brow. “Well, but consider that you are about to partake of the enjoyments as well as myself, and that I find the whole of this expensive establishment,” retorted the Major, looking back for his hounds. “Not a farthin’ subscription.” “Say two shillin’s, then,” replied Springer coaxingly. “No, no,” replied the Major, “a shillin’s plenty.” “Make it eighteen-pence then,” said Pitfall, “and oop she goes for the money.” “Well, come,” snapped the Major hurriedly, as Billy now came elbowing up. “Where is she? Where is she?” demanded he. “A, she’s not here—she’s not here, but I see her in her form thonder,” replied Springer, nodding towards the adjoining bush-dotted hill. “Go to her, then,” said the Major, jingling the eighteen-pence in his hand, to be ready to give him on view of the hare.