Of course Tom has his aversions, and there is one particular individual who, he says, he "just can't abear"--a Captain Stockley, one of the galloping-and-jumping division, who, although he can ride anything and over anything, knows little of hunting as hunting _per se_, and is always getting on top of the pack. One day, when he had managed to head the fox twice, the first whip, Charles, allowed his feelings to get the better of him, and holloed: "Hold hard, sir; d----n it, give 'em a chance;" whereupon Stockley rode up to Tom, and with a bland smile said: "I am sorry to be obliged to make a complaint, but one of the whips has been very impudent--in fact, he cursed me." The reply was not quite what the Captain expected, for Tom, seeing the cause of the two mischances in front of him, growled out: "He cursed yer, did he? Well, if it 'ad a-been me, I'd a gi'en yer a jolly good hiding;" and then catching his horse by the head he drove him at the wood fence, and was cheering on the pack before the Captain had recovered from his surprise. However, we left him just out of the turnips, with the hounds settling down to the line. Everything goes well for some ten minutes, there is a burning scent, lots of fencing for those who like it, and a convenient lane for those who don't. All of a sudden the hounds throw their heads up and spread like a fan. Not a sign does the Huntsman make beyond holding up his hand to stop the rush of the field. But with one eye on the pack, and the other looking forward to where the sheep are scampering across the meadow on the hillside and huddling together in a close column, he sits like a statue. Deaf is he to the remonstrances of the eager ones, who say: "It's for'ard, Tom; get along," merely remarking: "Let 'em puzzle it out; they want to hunt now. Yer can always lift 'em, but yer can't always get their heads down again;" and in a few moments he is rewarded by seeing the hounds work it out of their own accord, and dash forward, proud of their own cleverness. Some of the strangers to the Bullshire country say Tom is slow, but they do not know the old man. See him in another half hour, when the fox is beginning to run short. They are beginning to look for their second horses, and someone remarks that Charles is away. Suddenly a cap is seen in the air some four fields to the right, and "Hoick, holloa, hoick, holloa!" rings out clear. "Who is that?" ask some of the field. "Why, it's Charles! how the deuce did he get there?" say others. The Huntsman, however, knows well how it all came about, for did not he send Charles off to the high ground overlooking Bromley Wood on the off chance of a view? and now he does not wait an instant to discuss the question, but with a "chink-wink" of the horn and with cap in hand he gallops off, lifting the pack almost on to the fox's back.