“That’s bad news,” observed Trimbush. “However,” said he, “the noses on the kennel-door show that we have given a good account of our foxes.” “The devil’s own is not there,” replied I. “How is that?” “No,” rejoined the old hound. “His head was sent to be mounted as a cup, I heard Tom tell Ned Adams, and it is always to be placed in the middle of the table at the hunt-dinner.” “I’m glad of that,” returned I. “No doubt you are,” added Trimbush, “and so am I. It will be a lasting record of a run that, if equalled, was never beaten.” “What was the time, do you suppose?” inquired I. “Not a minute less than five hours,” responded my companion. “How proud the Squire and all of them were upon our return!” said I. “Yes,” rejoined the old hound. “I thought we should be killed by that which seldom forms the ground of coroners’ inquests--excessive kindness.” “Well!” exclaimed I, “since we have but two days remaining, we must endeavour to wind up the season with a good finish.” “To be sure,” returned Trimbush; “a brace more of noses must be added to the account, at least.” “How tired I shall be of kennel life throughout the long, hot summer,” said I, with a whine at the thought. “It is rather monotonous, I must say,” replied my companion. “And then to be continually shut up,” rejoined I. “Oh! but you’ll not be,” added he. “We are taken out always at daybreak, when the air and ground are nice and cool, and have a gentle trot for some eight or ten miles. Then a certain number, from three to four couple, are allowed, in turns, to remain at large all day about the kennel, or where we like, so long as we don’t get into mischief.” “That’s very kind and considerate,” said I, “and contributes greatly to our happiness.” “And health, you might have added,” continued Trimbush. “Nothing is so bad as close confinement for us, and, indeed, for all kinds of sporting dogs. The more liberty we have, the better for our condition, spirit, and general good. Trencher-fed hounds,” said he, “are remarkable for the superiority they possess over their kennelled brethren, and the only cause is from the freedom they enjoy.” “What a pity it is,” said I, “that we can’t make our rulers comprehend us as well as we understand them.” “Their heads are so thick,” replied Trimbush, contemptuously. “A great many are solid, like stones, all the way through, I’m sure.” “Some act as if they were,” rejoined I. “Act?” sneered the old hound. “Upon my soul I can’t think what nineteen out of twenty were born for. Certainly not for fox-hunting; that’s quite evident.” “It’s a good thing,” I remarked, “that our master is not one of the stone-heads.” “Yes,” returned he, “we are fortunate in that respect, and in most others. Will and Mark are as famous hound servants as ever entered a kennel, and, as a good huntsman makes good hounds, so does a good master make good servants.” “There’s a wonderful deal in the management,” I observed.