“Well!” added Trimbush, scratching an ear with his off hind foot, as if tickled with the reminiscence which the question created, “I should observe, in the first place,” continued he, “that Harry Bolton, our feeder, was one of the coolest fellows that ever boiled a copper of kit, and never known to exhibit the slightest astonishment at anything. Whenever he read an astounding piece of news in the _County Chronicle_--natural phenomenon, accident, or offence, or anything sufficient to cause the generality of his neighbours’ hair to stand on end was related to him--his short unchanging observation was, ‘Shouldn’t wonder!’ However, thought I, the ice of your surprise will be broken at last.” “And was it?” inquired I. “You shall hear,” resumed Trimbush. “When Harry came to the kennel, as was his wont just at break o’ day, and his eyes fell on the white bones of the unfortunate whipper-in spread upon the ground, he continued puffing a short black pipe, constantly between his lips, for a few seconds in silence, and then taking it from them with a slow deliberate movement, ejaculated, ‘Shouldn’t wonder! D--n me if they an’t hashed the whip.’” “And was that all he said?” I asked. “Every word,” returned my companion. At this moment Will Sykes arrived mounted, accompanied by the two whippers-in; and to his order, Mark threw back the door of the court upon its hinges, and out we rushed with a chorus of merry tongues ringing for our freedom, and the joy that we knew to be in store for us. “Unkennelling hounds,” remarked Trimbush, as we trotted along the road, side by side, “is one great illustrative fact of the difference between high-bred and low-bred animals. A puddle-blooded mongrel, or one of low caste, licks and fondles only the hand that gives him _food_; but we, and all possessing similar tendencies, love him and those who show and give us _sport_. See the difference with which we hail our feeder’s appearance, and that of our huntsman. We have affection for both; but there is no comparison between either the kind or strength of the feeling.” “We may like Will, too, all the better,” I observed, “on account of his not flogging us.” “A huntsman should never use the thong,” replied my companion. “It should be his study to be on such terms of friendship and good-will with his pack, that each hound is ready to fly to his voice like a bird to her nest; and among the varied tempers and dispositions which he has to deal with, this is impossible if he unites with his office the duties of whip.” “I always feel inclined to head just the other way when I hear Ned Adams,” observed I. “To be sure,” returned Trimbush. “The thrashed hound fears the whip; and getting away to his cry of ‘for’ard’ is as essential as obeying the huntsman’s horn; but the feelings for the two are far from being akin.”