“Gingeration! I’ll buy it for eight,” chuckled Markham, “yes, sir! I reckon there’s nearer ten. It’s mighty well settled. I’ll ride down to the house and see ’em; it won’t take but a minute.” Presently he returned, loping up the little rise toward them. “That’s fixed, Phil. Got it for nine tons. They wanted eight and a half for it, but I got it for eight and a quarter. Good hay, too, by doggie, sir, yes!” “Tom, can’t you get us up a fox hunt some day soon?” asked Phillip on the way back. “This is good weather, you know.” “Certainly I can. Old Colonel Brownell and a lot of the boys rode over here last Saturday and borrowed the dogs and found just back of Clearspring. They had a good run and caught a young vixen right down over yonder”――pointing into the darkness toward the west――“and the Colonel carried off the head. The Colonel’s sixty-eight,” he continued, turning toward John, “and he’s never missed a hunt yet. Well, now, how would next Monday morning do?” “All right, I reckon,” answered Phillip. “And we’ll pray for as good weather as this.” “You’re right; this is certainly mighty fine weather. Well, I’ll leave yo’-all here and jog home, I reckon. Good-night, Phil. Good-night, Mr. No’th; mighty pleased to have made yo’ acquaintance, sir, an’ hope to see yo’ over at my place before yo’ leave, sir.” Half-way home, while riding through a clearing that was bordered on one side by a dark wood, there was a sudden noise in the underbrush, followed by the sweet, clear, bell-like note of the beagle and the sharp, excited yelping of Tudor Maid. John’s mount threw up her head, laid her ears back and tugged at the bit. “Tubby’s found a fox,” cried Phillip. “Whoa, boy!” He stood up in his stirrups and placed a hand at his mouth. “Ha-arkaway!” he called shrilly. “Harkaway! After him, Tubby, old boy!” The rustling of the underbrush died away and Tubby’s voice from a distance took on a worried, whining tone. “He’s lost him,” laughed Phillip. “Come on, Winchester.” They rode on in a silence disturbed only by the tread of the horses on the soft wagon path, the musical creaking of leather and the occasional rustling or chirp of birds preparing for the night. When they reached the top of the hill Elaine lay before and below them, a misty white blur picked out with tiny lights, while in the east, over a dark rampart of forests, the moon was sailing, its lower edge caught in the topmost branches of a distant tree. “By Jove,” said John softly, “but that’s beautiful!” “Yes,” answered Phillip, as their horses, scenting the stables, tugged at the reins and began the descent; and after a moment he added thoughtfully, “I wonder if Margey told Aunt Cicely to have cakes for supper.”