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STOPPING AT every station, a local train conveyed
me sedately into Sussex. Local and sedate, like-
wise, were the workings of my brain, as I sat in an
empty compartment with the Southern Daily News on
my knees. I had bought that unpretentious paper in
order to read about the Ringwell Hounds, whose
doings were regularly reported therein. And sure
enough the previous day's sport was described in
detail, and "Among the large field out" was the
name, with many others, of "Mr, Colwood, junr.".
Although I had yet to become acquainted with the
parishes through which Reynard had made his way,
I read with serious attention how he had "crossed
the Downfield and Boffham road, borne right-handed
into Hooksworth Wood, turned sharply back, and
worked his way over the country to Icklcsfield," etc.,
etc., until "hounds ran into him after a woodland
hunt of nearly three hours". The account ended
with the following words: "If ever hounds deserved
blood they did this time, as they had to work out
nearly every yard of their fox's line,"

Having read this through twice I allowed my
thoughts to dally with the delightful prospect of my
being a participator in similar proceedings next day.
Occasionally I glanced affectionately at the bulging
kit-bag containing those masterpieces by Cr^xwell and