'"Ay," says t' Squire, "an' t' night before a message will doubtless come to say that Mr. Cunliffe has suddenly been called away on important political business, an' he's much grieved to forego a pleasure he had been so much looking forward to." '"You've said quite enough, sir," cries Cunliffe, red an' passionate; "kindly have your horse saddled--t' light-roan one for choice; for I take your wager an' will ride your horse home this night." 'T' Squire goes out to t' stable himself, gives his orders, an' in fifteen minutes' time t' horse is round at t' door. '"Ye'll be wantin' a switch likely," says t' Squire, as he shows him downstairs, "an' if ye'll come into t' gun-room here, ye can take your pick o' crops, or cuttin' whips, or what ye will." 'T' room was dark, an' Cunliffe, he bumps up against a small pail o' something an' upsets it on his trousers and all over t' floor before t' Squire gets a candle lighted. '"Never mind, never mind that," says t' Squire cheerily, "it's just nowt to matter; it's just for to try my hounds with to-morrow, an' shouldn't have been there. See, there's t' whip-stand; take your choice," says he. 'Cunliffe, he takes a cuttin' whip, an' jumps on t' horse without more ado, an' goes out into t' paddock with t' stud groom, who is to show him where to start from when t' Squire shouts "off" from the roof of the house. 'A minute or two later t' Squire shows himself on t' battlements, and Mistress Heron's there too, to see the sport. '"Are ye ready?" rings out t' Squire's voice. '"Yes," comes back t' answer. '"Then off!" he shouts down and drops t' handkerchief. 'Away he goes at a full gallop straight across t' wide-spreading west park-land, then draws rein a moment as he approaches t' haha with a drop of five feet or so, perhaps. Just as he pulls up there comes a faint "you-yowin'," as of hounds upon a scent, from around t' corner of t' house. '"Whatever's that?" cries Mistress Heron quickly, as she catches the sound of it. '"Why, it's t' hounds," cries t' Squire, with a stabbing laugh. "I thowt it might help him t' jump t' black beck an' win his wager to have t' hounds after him, an' so it will, for there's a bit aniseed sprinkled on Gamecock's fetlock bandages, an' Cunliffe's stepped into some himself." '"'Tis the deed of a savage!" says my lady, and with a proud contempt of him she steps away from his side as far as t' battlements will permit.