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The evergreen loveliness of the sonata unfolded itself,
and Kreisler was interpreting it with tenderness and
majesty. For him the concert was only one in that
procession of recitals which carried him along on his
triumphant career. But I knew then, as I had never
known before, that such music was more satisfying
than the huntsman's horn. On my way home in the
train my thoughts were equally divided between the
Kreisler concert and rny new hunting things.
Probably my new boots got the best of it.


SITTING BY the schoolroom fire after tea on the
last Saturday in November, I cleaned my almost
new pipe (for I had taken to smoking, though I hadn't
enjoyed it much so far) with a white pigeon's feather
from the lawn.

I had got home early after a rotten half-day with
the Dumborough. I'd had four days with them since
the opening meet, and it was no use pretending that
I'd enjoyed myself. Apart from the pleasure of wear-
ing my self-consciously new clothes I had returned
home each day feeling dissatisfied. It wasn't so much
that the Hunt seemed to spend most of its time potter*
ing round impenetrable woodlands as that the other
subscribers appeared to be unwilling to acknowledge
my existence except by staring me into a state of acute
awareness of my ignorance of what was being done
and how to do it. There was also the problem of
Harkaway, who demonstrated more clearly every
time I took him out that his stamina was insufficient
for^a hard day's hunting. It was only his courage
which kept him going at all; in spite of Dixon's efforts