My friend little knew how delighted I was that "Old Sandy" was to be put through his paces. He little knew how carefully I had studied the peculiarities of this famous fox--how often when training Flora I had taken her out and followed "Old Sandy" through all his ranges, how I had "felt of" both his speed and bottom and knew all his weak points. II Morning came, and with it Uncle Plato's bugle call. Aunt Patience was ready with a smoking hot breakfast, and everybody was in fine spirits. As the eager, happy crowd filed down the broad avenue that led to the hall, the fair de Compton, who had been delayed in mounting, rode by my side. "You choose your escort well," I ventured to say. "I have a weakness for children," she replied; "particularly for children who know what they are about. Plato has told me that if I desired to see all of the hunt without much trouble, to follow you. I am selfish, you perceive." We rode over the red hills and under the russet trees until we came to "Old Sandy's" favorite haunt. Here a council of war was held, and it was decided that Tom and a portion of the hunters should skirt the fields, while another portion led by Miss de Compton and myself should enter and bid the fox good morning. Uncle Plato, who had been given the cue, followed me with the dogs, and in a few moments we were very near the particular spot where I hoped to find the venerable deceiver of dogs and men. The hounds were already sallying hither and thither, anxious and evidently expectant. Five minutes went by without a whimper from the pack. There was not a sound save the eager rustling of the dogs through the sedge and undergrowth. The ground was familiar to Flora, and I watched her with pride as with powerful strides she circled around. Suddenly she paused and flung her head in the air, making a beautiful picture where she stood poised, as if listening. My heart gave a great thump. It was a trick of hers, and I knew that "Old Sandy" had been around within the past twenty-four hours! With a rush, a bound, and an eager cry, my favorite came toward us, and the next moment "Old Sandy," who had been lying almost at our horses' feet, was up and away with Flora right at his heels. A wild hope seized me that my favorite would run into the shy veteran before he could get out of the field. But no! One of the Jasper county hunters, rendered momentarily insane by excitement, endeavored to ride the fox down with his horse, and in another moment Sir Reynard was over the fence and into the woodland beyond, followed by the hounds. They made a splendid but [v]ineffectual burst of speed, for when "Old Sandy" found himself upon the blackjack hills he was foot-loose. The morning, however, was fine--just damp enough to leave the scent of the fox hanging breast high in the air, whether he shaped his course over lowlands or highlands. [Illustration: The Beginning of the Fox Hunt]