eginning to look more idyllic than sporting now; it 'as dotted with primrose bunches, and the wild nemones were numerous. Although I saw them with lacid appreciation my uppermost thought was that ie country was drying up nicely; deep going was iclieved to be a disadvantage to Cockbird, who was upposed to possess a turn of speed which he would Lave more chance of showing if the ground were dry. The early afternoon was quiet and Sunday-like as I at with half a ham-sandwich in my hand; a saffron mtterfly fluttered aimlessly along the hedge; miles iway the grey-green barrier of the downs overlooked .he inactive Weald, and I thought I'd rather like to DC up there, by the old windmill on Ditchbury 3eacon. Discarding this unsportsmanlike notion, I went on my way; half an hour later my uncompanioned identity had been merged in my meeting with Stephen and we were very deliberately inspecting the first few fences. There was a stake-and-bound hedge on a bank which we didn't much like the look of. While we were still planted in front of it the cheery voice of Arthur Brandwick hailed us with "That's a place where you'll have to take a pull at your old horse, Steve.'* With him was Nigel Croplady, wearing white gaiters and puffing a cigar; his somewhat supercilious recognition of my existence made me feel that I had no business to be there at all. Croplady was on the Point-to-Point Committee; he had helped to plan out the course and had supervised the making up and trimming of the fences. "I'm not at all sure we oughtn't to have made the course a bit staffer," he remarked. Brandwick replied that he wouldn't be saying that if he were having a bump round it himself.