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hunting jargon. The words might well have been
penned by a middle-aged sheep-farmer, or even by
Mr. "Gus" Gimling himself. ''Took a toss over a stile"
is the only human touch. But taking tosses was inci-
dental to the glory of being a hard rider. What I ought
to have written was—that I couldn't make up my mind
whether to go at it or not, and the man behind me
shouted "go on if you're going1', so I felt flustered
and let Harkaway rush at it anyhow and then jerked
his mouth just as he was taking off, and he didn't
really fall, but only pecked badly and chucked me
over his head and then stood quite still waiting for me
to scramble up again, and altogether it was rather an
inglorious exhibition, and thank goodness Stephen
wasn't there to see it. For though Stephen and I
always made a joke out of every toss we took, it
wouldn't have suited my dignity if he'd told me in
cold blood that I was still a jolly rotten rider—the
tacit assumption being that my falls were entirely due
to my thrusting intrepidity.

It will be noticed that no mention is made of the
method by which "Miss Masterful" was."taken3J,
although I had witnessed that performance for the
first time in my life. As far as I can recollect, Miss M.
having decided that the show had lasted long enough,
plunged into a small pond and stood there with only
her small head appearing above the muddy water.
Raucous ratings and loud whip-crackings restrained
the baying hounds from splashing in alter her, and
then genial Mr. Gimling, assisted by one of the
whiskered wiseacres of the hunt (in a weather-stained
black coat which came nearly down to his knees,
white cord breeches, black butcher-boots, and very
long spurs), began to get busy with a long rope*
After Miss M. had eluded their attempts several times