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ing all about who had been out and what they had
said, but she obviously found some difficulty in
sharing her husband's satisfaction about the clever
way in which "Lord Nelson" (the one-eyed horse) had
popped over a stile with an awkward take-off and a
drop on the landing-side. She must have endured
many anxious hours while her family were out hunt-
ing, but her pinnacle of perturbation had been reached
when Stephen rode in the Hunt Races—an ordeal
which (unless Jerry went lame) was re-awaiting her
the next April. She could never be induced to attend
"those horrible point-to-points" which, as she often
said, would be the death of her.

On this particular evening my new horse was
naturally the main topic, and his health was drunk
in some port which had been "laid down" in the
year of Stephen's birth. After this ceremony the
Rector announced that he'd heard for certain that
the Master was sending in his resignation.

"Here's to our next one", he added, raising his
glass again, "and I hope he'll engage a first-rate

I assumed a sagacious air while they deplored the
imperfections of Ben Trotter, and the way he was
for ever lifting his hounds and losing his head. Stephen
remarked that whatever those humanitarian cranks
might say, there was precious little cruelty to foxes
when they were being hunted by a chap like Ben,
who was always trying to chase his fox himself and
never gave his hounds a chance to use their noses.
The Rector sighed and feared that it was no use pre-
tending that the Ringwell was anything but a cold-
scenting country. We then adjourned to the study,
where we soon had our own noses close to the ord-
nance map. At this moment I can see Mr. Colwood