We carried a fine head across the first field of some thirty acres of grass, and crossing two wide ditches--which would be called brooks in some counties--we began to hope that these would prove of essential service in stopping the mob. A blind bullfinch, too, increased our sanguine hopes on this head, and we began to flatter ourselves that a good day’s sport was in store, when we had to throw up and check. “That ploughman’s headed him,” said Trimbush, making a cast to the right, “and he’s down wind as sure as I’m a foxhound.” He was right, and hitting it off, with an improving scent, we down with our sterns and raced along at our best pace. A large flock of sheep was before us, and, notwithstanding they ran some distance, we managed to carry it through the stained ground, with a little careful picking, without much loss of time. I saw Will Sykes in doubt as to whether he should not cast us forward; but thinking, perhaps, of the sensible rule of “letting us alone,” and as we did not throw up, he, luckily for himself, kept his horn quiet. Had he twanged it he would have had the Squire about his ears. As the ground was good and we had a turn of wind in our favour, we set to work and soon recovered the little time lost through the sheep. There was now every probability of having a glorious day’s sport. The field had been thinned materially at the burst, and those with us were not near enough to do any harm. “It will be short and fast to-day,” said Trimbush, exultingly. The scent was now a burning one, and we all bristled for blood. Across three deep fallows we carried it in great force into and across a green lane, flanked by two tall quicks, when suddenly the leading hounds threw up. “What’s the matter?” inquired several, throwing up their heads. “Find out,” briefly replied Trimbush, doing his best to accomplish the deed himself. In a few seconds the lane became full of horses; for it is wonderful how courageous men are in spinning along the roads. Some came screaming up and cracking their whips, and instead of sticking to our work we began flying about in every direction. The Squire scolded, Will roared, Tom lost his patience, and Ned Adams thundered out “Hold har-r-r-d!” until black in the face. [Illustration: “HOLD HAR-R-R-D!”] At this juncture, a fellow with his hat hanging by the string, his long lank hair streaming in the wind, coat tails sticking well out, and his horse’s head close to his chest, came tearing up the lane. Bang he went against me, rolling me over and over like a football. I thought my back was broken, and sung out with pain and fright most lustily. “William,” said the Squire, sternly. “Take the hounds home.” Will touched his cap, and the order was obeyed. CHAPTER VIII. “Oh! what avails the largest gifts of heaven When drooping health and spirits go amiss? How tasteless then whatever can be given; Health is the vital principle of bliss.”