Early in February, the meet of the Runmore foxhounds happened to be a central one, and within two miles of Ballingoole; this was always one of the great events of the season, when all the population, gentle and simple, turned out _en masse_. The labourers had a holiday, the townspeople closed their shops, and every jaunting car and ass’s cart in the parish, took the road to Drubberstown Cross. Even Belle, who hated fox-hunting, secured a seat in the Mahons’ wagonette. The Major was mounted in his dog-cart, George on the grey, and Denis on an elderly, but excellent black mare belonging to the priest. Cuckoo and Betty (who knew every yard of the country and always evinced a most active interest in the Harriers) set out at an early hour in Mrs. Malone’s donkey car; indeed Betty had had a narrow escape of figuring at the meet, with the bath-chair at her heels, but Belle had not allowed her mother to develop the idea. As long as George Holroyd was in the country, the old lady must forego such carriage exercise. Astute Belle had gathered that he disapproved of her turn-out, so Betty and Cuckoo had driven off in a little village cart, behind “Mookieanna,” a well-fed sporting donkey--all three being in the highest spirits. The young ladies had laid their plans with much discrimination, and resolved to relinquish the glories of the meet, and to go instead, and take up a strong position, from whence they would be able to see the subsequent run--if run there was. They drove straight to the Hill of Knock, on the side of which lies a neat gorse patch, a sure warrant for a game fox. Tying Mookieanna to the gate, they walked up through three large bare fields to the cover side, and then discovered, to their intense disgust, crowds of country people assembled close to it, smoking and joking, round several large fires, awaiting the arrival of the hounds. “It would be hard for them to find a fox here to-day,” exclaimed Betty, breathless and angry. “Faix, and so it would, miss,” calmly assented Mike, Mrs. Redmond’s handy man and gardener. “Sure, didn’t I see a brace of them break out of it this morning, with my own two eyes, but I’m thinking, maybe _himself_ is in it yet.” “There is no use in staying here,” said Cuckoo scornfully. “They won’t find here, and will go on and draw Coolambar Hill. We have plenty of time to run across to it; it’s barely a mile-and-a-half by the short cut. Mike, do you take home the donkey, he is tied below at the gate.” And the two girls girded up their dresses, and fled down the hill, an exceedingly active couple. “They ran like hares,” to quote admirers round the cover fires--they climbed, they jumped, they struggled through hedges, with the ease that came from youth, and health and practice. As they were about to breast Coolambar Hill, Betty paused suddenly with a dramatic gesture, and said: