"Ask Mamma"; or, The Richest Commoner In EnglandSurtees, Robert Smith
General
"Ask Mamma"; or, The Richest Commoner In England
Surtees, Robert Smith
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fox hunting -- Fiction
The man then led the way through rushes, brambles, and briars,
keeping a steady eye on the spot where she sate. At length he
stopped. “There she’s, see!” said he, _sotto voce_, pointing to
the green hill-side.
“I have her!” whispered the Major, his keen eyes sparkling with
delight. “Come here,” said he to Billy, “and I’ll show her to
you. There,” said he, “there you see that patch of gorse with the
burnt stick stumps, at the low end—well, carry your eye down the
slope of the land, past the old willow-tree, and you have her as
plain as a pike-staff.”
Billy shook his head. He saw nothing but a tuft or two of rough
grass.
“O yes, you see her large eyes watching us,” continued the Major,
“thinking she sees us without our seeing her.
“No,” our friend didn’t.
“Very odd,” laughed the Major, “very odd,” with the sort of
vexation a man feels when another can’t be made to see the object
he does.
“Will you give them a view now?” asked Springer, “or put her away
quietly?”
“Oh, put her away quietly,” replied the Major, “put her away
quietly; and let them get their noses well down to the scent;”
adding—“I’ve got some strange hounds out, and I want to see how
they work.”
The man then advanced a few paces, and touching one of the
apparently lifeless tufts with his pole, out sprang puss and went
stotting and dotting away with one ear back and the other
forward, in a state of indignant perturbation. “Buck!” exclaims
Pitfall, watching her as she goes.
“Doubt it,” replied the Major, scrutinising her attentively.
“Nay look at its head and shoulders; did you iver see sic red
shoulders as those on a doe?” asked Springer.
“Well,” said the Major, “there’s your money,” handing Springer
the eighteen-pence, “and I hope she’ll be worth it; but mind, for
the futur’ a shillin’s my price.”
After scudding up the hill, puss stopped to listen and ascertain
the quality of her pursuers. She had suffered persecution from
many hands, shooters, coursers, snarers, and once before from the
Major and his harriers. That, however, was on a bad scenting day,
and she had not had much difficulty in beating them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account