Solomon had set off on one of his cruises, which resulted in the yeomen prickers and he meeting at the gate, where the hare had squatted, when Lovely gave tongue, just as Springer, with his eyes well down, exclaimed, “_here she’s!_” Bustler, and Bracelet, and Twister, and Chaunter, confirmed Lovely’s opinion, and away they went with the feeble scent peculiar to the sinking animal. Their difficulties are further increased by the sheep, it requiring Solomon’s oft-raised hand to prevent the hounds being hurried over the line—as it is, the hunt was conducted on the silent system for some little distance. The pace rather improved after they got clear of the smear and foil of the muttons, and the Major pulled up his gills, felt his tie, and cocked his hat jauntily, as the hounds pointed for the pretty farm-house, the Major thinking to show off to advantage before Mrs. Kidwell. They presently carried the scent up to the still open gates of the fold-yard. Lovely now proclaims where puss has paused. Things look very critical. “Good mornin’, Mrs. Kidwell,” exclaimed the gallant Major, addressing her; “pray how long have you been at the churn?” “O, this twenty minutes or more, Major,” replied Mrs. Kidwell, gaily. “You haven’t got the hare in it, have you?” asked he. “Not that I know of; but you can look if you like,” replied Mrs. Kidwell, colouring slightly. “Why, no; we’ll take your word for it,” rejoined the Major gallantly. “Must be on, Solomon; must be on,” said he—nodding his huntsman to proceed. Solomon is doubtful, but “master being master,” Solomon holds his hounds on past the stable, round the lambing-sheds and stackyard, to the front of the little three windows and a doored farm-house, without eliciting a whimper, no, not even from a babbler. Just at this moment a passing cloud discharged a gentle shower over the scene, and when Solomon returned to pursue his inquiries in the fold-yard, the last vestige of scent had been effectually obliterated. Mrs. Kidwell now stood watching the inquisitive proceedings if the party, searching now the hen-house, now the pigstye, now the ash-hole; and when Solomon tried the cow-house door, she observed carelessly: “Ah, that’s locked;” and he passed on to examine the straw-shed adjoining. All places were overhauled and scrutinized. At length, even Captain Nabley’s detective genius failed in suggesting where puss could be. “Where did you see her last?” asked Mrs. Kidwell, with well-feigned ignorance. “Why, we’ve not seen her for some time; but the hounds hunted her up to your very gate,” replied the Major. “Deary me, how strange! and you’ve made nothin’ of her since?” observed she.