"Yes, but never again," is the reply. "Five-and-twenty gates to open, a treatise on scent, the pedigree of every hound in the pack, and some weak sherry-and-water, hardly compensate one for missing one of the best things of the season. By gad, we never saw hounds from the time they found till they killed, and yet to hear the woman talk, you would fancy she was in the first flight all the way. Look out, she is bearing down on us;" and the little group disperse, each one seemingly having caught sight of a man in the distance that he "must speak to for a moment." Time's up now, and they move off to the big wood, Mrs. P. closely attended by the two strangers, to whom she has promised to show the country. They feel obliged, or rather under an obligation to her, and do not like to leave her side, though both think they would rather see the country for themselves without a cicerone. It is her day all over, for it is even betting they do not get out of the wood; and even if they do, what so convenient as a false turn down a ride that leads to nowhere? By the time they get outside hounds will be well away, and the only chance of catching them will be through that line of gates that Mrs. Polson knows so well. As they come up to the wood the trio find their progress barred by a low rail, over which Tom has popped, followed by a good many of the field. The two strangers naturally suppose that so great a sportswoman as Mrs. Polson will make nothing of a small obstacle like the one before them, so one politely gives her a lead over, turning round on the other side to say: "It's rather a boggy place on the left, but if you jump well to the right you will find it quite firm," while the other holds back till the lady has successfully negotiated the fence. They are a little surprised when she says, in the blandest possible tones: "I hope you will not think me a bore, but there is nothing I dislike so much as jumping in cold blood. It only takes it out of one's horse for nothing. If you would not mind taking that rail down--it drops off easily--I should be so much obliged." This necessitates someone dismounting, and the man who gave the lead over has to get off and stand in a pool of muddy water, which he feels oozing through his boots, while he struggles manfully with the offending rail. At last his efforts are successful. Mrs. Poison gallops triumphantly through, splashing him all over as she passes. "Oh, I am so sorry," she exclaims, when she sees what she has done. "It is my naughty horse; he can't bear to be kept waiting." The splashed one is too polite to say much, but that does not prevent him from "thinking a lot;" and as he wipes the mud from his face he registers a vow to give my lady the slip on the first possible opportunity. This comes shortly, for a few minutes later there is an unmistakable find, and the hounds are seen tearing through the underwood to the right.