“Not less than two brace and a half, sir,” replied the huntsman. “Very good,” rejoined his master. “Let the vixen go if she will.” He then galloped towards Tom Holt, and just as he was about cracking his whip, a signal from the Squire stopped him. “Come from this corner,” said he, “and let the old one go, and as soon as these hounds come out with the scent, stop them, and take them to William.” Scarcely were the instructions given, when the vixen took advantage of the opportunity, and broke away at her best pace. The lot settled to her were stopped, and taken to the huntsman at the top of a ride, in about the middle of the cover. Being joined in one body, we now pressed our cub most severely; and I viewed him cross two or three rides with his red rag out, in a truly sinking condition. “This cub is very much distressed, sir,” observed the huntsman, “and if they don’t get one of the others up, for they have all dropped but this, they’ll soon run into him.” I now heard a succession of cracks from a thong, which I knew to be Ned Adams’s. “He’s headed a fox back,” said Trimbush, exultingly, “but it isn’t our hunted one. He’s out--come along.” A bunch of us swept from the side of the cover, and with heads up, dashed across a field, before Will was aware that we had got away. “They’re out, by heaven!” exclaimed the huntsman. “Where can Ned be?” “All right,” returned the Squire. “They broke from the side, and no one’s to blame.” We carried the scent through the first hedge into a summerland, and threw up. Will, coming up, took hold of us rather hastily, and cast us down wind. “Gently, William, gently,” said his master, reprovingly. “You appear to have forgotten the golden rule of letting them alone.” We felt down wind for some distance, but not making it out, turned up, and as we were passing the spot where we had jumped through the hedge, a thought struck me that the cub might be skulking in the ditch on the other side. Popping my nose down, I dropped into it, and finding instantly that I was right, I rushed through the brambles, and just as he was about to spring out, I caught him across a tender part, and with one pinch he was as dead as a salt herring. “Who-whoop!” hallooed the Squire. “Who-whoop, my beauty!” To the envy of most of my companions, I received great praise for this kill from our master, who seemed not to know how to make enough of me on our road home. “Yo-o, Ringwood!” cried he, throwing me a bit of biscuit from his pocket. “Yo-o, Ringwood, darling,” and then turning to Will, said, “What a mercy such a hound as that was not destroyed through my haste!” “Ay, sir,” returned the huntsman, with a knowing shake of the head. “If we have as good, we’ve none better.” “Thanks to my instructions,” growled Trimbush. “Come, come,” said I, “don’t be jealous of the little praise I’m getting. You receive your share.”