“Lick that stain off your flank,” said Trimbush, pointing to the dirt on my side. “Why should I be so particular?” replied I, obeying his instructions, “we don’t go out to-day.” “No,” rejoined he; “but the Squire’s coming to inspect us, and, I suppose, you’d like to appear nice and comely in _his_ eyes.” “What do you mean by that?” I asked, applying my tongue more diligently to the completion of my toilet. “You’ll see in a few minutes,” added Trimbush, “and if everything isn’t in gingerly order, I’ll bet a week’s meal and broth, those will hear of it who are responsible for their neglect.” The greatest neatness and cleanliness were always observed in our kennel; but I noticed old Mark had put a polish on his shoes, and a white neckerchief was tied, with much skill displayed in the bow, round his throat. Will Sykes, too, Tom Holt, and Ned Adams, upon entering the court, exhibited more care than usual in their dress on non-hunting days. The huntsman, glancing round and seeing all was unobjectionable as far as his hope and belief went, pulled a watch out of his fob, and observed that “the Squire will be here in seven minutes three-eighths.” “Can you time him to a second?” said Mark smiling. “Ay,” replied Will, “it doesn’t require a gauge to do that with his rules.” As a distant clock was striking, the bell rung at the kennel door. “I said so,” remarked the huntsman, and upon opening it he lifted his hat, and in walked our worthy master. “Now for my frock,” said he, and one as white as snow was brought by old Mark, who was sensitively jealous of the privilege of assisting the Squire to make his kennel toilet. When attired he proceeded to the boiling-house, examined the boiling flesh, coppers, and everything belonging to that department. Then turning into the feeding-room, he looked at the troughs and expressed himself satisfied with the perfect order that all things were in belonging to this. In going to the lodging rooms, Will Sykes said, “How would you like to have them drawn, sir?” “Each hound singly,” replied the Squire, “and the entry first.” It was some little time before it came to my turn; but when my name was called out I sprang, and as soon as I made my appearance, the Squire took a piece of biscuit from his pocket and throwing it to me, said “Here Ringwood, beauty,” and caressed me kindly. One or two of my young companions evinced some temper and jealousy at this, and growled deeply with up-reared hackles. “Come, come,” hallooed Tom, correctingly, and a crack from his thong soon silenced the grumblers. “His nose is hot,” observed the Squire, touching my nostrils, and standing a few feet back followed up the remark by saying, “What is that redness on his flank?” “A little heat, I think, sir,” replied the huntsman, making a more careful examination of me. “Then cool him,” was the reply, “and let him stay at home to-morrow.”