TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

remarked Dixon, shaking his head \\ilh affectionate
regret for the departed transgressor. He had a warm
heart for any horse in the world, and, like every good
groom, would sit up all night with a hunter rnthor
than risk leaving a thorn in one of its legs after a day's
hunting.

So far as I know, Dixon never made any attempt to
get a better place. Probably he was shrewd enough
to realize that he was very well off where he was. And
I am certain that my aunt would have been much
upset if he had given notice. The great thing about
Dixon was that he knew exactly where to draw the
line. Beyond that line, I have no doubt, lay his secret
longing to have an occasional day with the Dum-
borough Hounds on one of his employer's horses.
Obviously there was no hope that "the mistress"
could ever be manipulated into a middle-aged en-
thusiasm for the hazards of the chase. Failing that, his
only possible passport into the distant Dumborough
Elysium existed in the mistress's nephew. He would
make a sportsman of him, at any rate!

My first appearance in the hunting-field was
preceded by more than, three years of unobtrusive
preparation. Strictly speaking, I suppose that my
sporting career started even earlier than that. Begin-
ning then with the moment when Dixon inwardl)
decided to increase my aunt's establishment by the
acquisition of a confidential child's pony, I pass to his
first recorded utterance on this, to me, importawi
subject.

^ I must have been less than nine years old at llu
time, but I distinctly remember how, one brighi

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