"Try the gorse first, Sir John, if you please. I think I can promise one there," replies James Simms, in momentary dread that Tom and the osiers might win the day. And as Sir John, nodding to the Huntsman, says: "High field Gorse, Tom," James's face beams with pleasure, and, together with his father, he trots off to superintend the arrangements. "A chip of the old block" is the general verdict, as James, sending his "young 'un" at a low post and rails, which he hits hard all round, cuts off a corner, and canters on to the bottom end, where he remains as mute as a sphinx, merely telegraphing to Tom and his father that he was there. Just as the hounds are thrown in, a boy runs up to him and, with a grin, says: "Mayster, ay's theer; I'n sayd 'un. Ay's down at bottom end by t' ould stump." "All right, Jim, my lad; you keep quiet. If he's there you shall have a bob," replies James, burning with impatience as he hears no sound save Tom's "Eleu, in, eleu 'ave at 'm. Eugh, boys." "Blank, by the Lord Harry!" he ejaculates, as two or three hounds appear outside; and, turning to the boy, he asks: "My lad, are you sure you saw a fox?" "I'n sayd 'un; ay's theer," is the reply. "Ay mun bay up stump." "Here," cries James, "take my whip, and if you can get him out your bob will be two-and-six." The boy does not wait a moment, but, heedless of furze, dashes on to where the old ivy-covered stump stands, and is soon swarming up to the top. A crack of the whip, a scuffle, a shout from the lad of "Look out, mayster," and a fine old dog jumps out and makes off right under James's nose. "Good lad," he says, as the boy returns with his whip; "here, catch." And while James utters a view holloa that would wake the dead, the lad, having spat upon it for luck, transfers half-a-crown to his pocket. "All right, Tom; down the field and over the fence to the right. Come on, dad;" and Tom, getting his hounds on the line in a twinkling, the trio are hard at it. "Pull that young 'un together," says old Simms as they neared the fence; "it's a big 'un." His old mare slips over as if it was child's play. Not so the "young 'un." Going like an express train, he never rises an inch, and James finds himself and the nag somewhat mixed up on the other side. "That's a buster. No damage, eh?" says Tom. "Not a bit; for'ard on," replies James, swinging himself into his saddle, and giving his astonished animal a gentle reminder. "It'll teach him to rise next time. There goes the governor," as his father landed in a blind ditch at the next obstacle, but was up and going again in a moment. At this crisis they are joined by the Master and a chosen few. "All, this is something like a fox, worthy of the family," laughs Sir John Lappington as he gallops alongside. "Did you breed him on purpose?"