“No one could pass old Champion without an allusion to his family. At present they number four, and include himself, his wife, a son and a small daughter. No one could be more obliging and kind-hearted than Mrs. Champion, always ready to offer you a seat by a warm fire, and in fact to do those hundred and one things that ‘always count.’ As to George, I remember him before the War stopped us, when, though far younger than any of us, he used to keep going all day and never give in; after the War he seemed almost grown up and became like an auxiliary whip to me, his help at times being quite indispensable. He could run and keep up better than our best, and none of us were keener sportsmen. Lastly, though only a T.Y.O. filly, the youngest member already knows all the hounds by name, and they certainly all know her, willingly offering their backs for a ride. “Well, to leave this wonderful family I go back to where we found them. I soon learnt from Champion my first duty was to visit all the farmers over whose land we hunted, some thirty in all. “Starting with those near home, I at once discovered a most agreeable fact, for they were all so kind and generous that I soon realised why it was that only 3% had any objection to us restarting after the War. One day I am going to farm myself, so we had a good ground for conversation that helped to break the ice after an informal introduction. It was then that I got to know them, and knowing them meant liking them. “I cannot pay these farmers a greater tribute than to say that no one of them ever showed me anything but the greatest civility and kindness. Of course, some pointed out perfectly legitimate annoyances, but they never showed any bitterness in expressing them. It is with a certain feeling of bitterness that one realises that all we give in return to these farmers, who offer their crops to trample and hedges to break, is a brace of pheasants and a hare if they are lucky. “Of course I could fill a book with accounts of our sport that winter, but I must confine myself to a few remarks. Any success we had when I was Master was not due in any degree to me, but to the hounds. I believe all the joy of beagling, and its value as a sport, is to watch the hounds work, and with a good pack the less the Master interferes the better, and then only when the hounds seem to look to him for help. Of course I am prejudiced, but our pack seemed to me close on perfection by the time we reached the Easter Half: steady, obedient and fast; to watch them spread like a fan at a check and then a whimper (no babblers, mind!), and all the pack were away again raising their enchanting song.