“It’s the hunting’s comin’ on her,” said Baldy, looking over Anne’s shoulder as he came up with the milk pails. “She’s larnt them pups most everythin’ but that, an’ some fine night she’ll get ’em out, no matter how fast you’ve shet ’em, for it’s natur. When she’s had ’em out a few times, then like as not she’ll be done with ’em and leave ’em to shift and take to her own ways agin. “Watch out when the moon’s bright and the dew’s heavy; rabbit hounds most allus begins that time, for trailin’s dead easy, an’ you’ll _hear_ even if you don’t see nothin’.” * * * * * After supper Anne took the twins out to show them to Mr. Hugh, who was a good judge of hunting dogs, and for the first time she noticed that not only was Jack growing larger than Jill, whom Mr. Hugh pronounced nearly perfect in the matter of points, but that he was of a different shape. His legs were longer and he leaped along and did not drop his body when he ran, as his mother and father did, so that the family name of Waddles seemed inappropriate. “Yes; he’s a trifle weedy for a beagle; he is really a typical harrier hound,” said Mr. Hugh. “He gets that combination through his grandfather, who was a foxhound, and one of the truest dogs in the country. [Illustration: _Jack._] “You see, Mistress Anne, Jack’s grandmother was a handsome, wild, headstrong young thing like Jill here, and she didn’t wait until her family arranged a match for her with one of her own class, but eloped with Squire Burley’s handsome hound, Meadowlark. Her family would not forgive her at first or recognize her husband, and the poor thing had a sad time of it; that is why your father was able to buy Waddles for five dollars. But never mind, for if Jack has his grandfather’s long legs he’ll make a good runner, and I think that he has his good temper and cleverness as well--we always take Meadowlark out with Leonora and Wildbrier when we are training the young hounds, for he keeps them together and we seldom lose one, and that reminds me, we are going out to-night for the first time this season. Later on, you shall go, for on an autumn night there’s nothing like the music of hounds. Even with the mixed pack we have, one or two from half a dozen farms, every man can recognize the voice of his own dog. “Where do we go to-night? Ah, this will be merely baby work; we lead Squire Burley’s pet fox around the brush lots for a couple of miles and then when he’s safely home and in bed, we put the youngsters and a couple of steady old dogs on the trail; then, when they come back, we give the babes something good to eat as a reward. “Later we go out in earnest and follow the real trails on foot to locate the dens for the autumn and winter clearing. It’s good work; foxes are no joke to the farmers in the back country.”