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shooting-dog and knew more about that breed than
any other man in England. I have an idea that the
dogs were golden brown, silky-haired, and elegant.
I was only inside his house once, when the hounds
met there: the interior left an impression of being
only half lived in; I imagined Mr. Jariott as its atten-
tive but lonely inhabitant, and the windows looked
vacantly out on the pleasant park from the box-like

Not far from Mr. Jariott's house there was a strip
of woodland named Lady Byron's Covert. Years
afterwards I discovered that the poet had lived
at that house for a short time with that "moral
Clytemnestra", his wife, who remained there in her
aggrieved seclusion long after his departure to Italy.
My knowledge of this seems to explain the impression
of haunting unhappiness which the house made on
my mind. I should like to know what old'Mr. Jariott
thought about it all.

Among the younger generation in the Packlcstone
Hunt the brothers Peppermore were far the most
conspicuous, as they would have been in any sporting
community. Jack and Charlie Peppermore were
both under twenty-five and had already broken most
of their bones. They were well known as amateur
race-riders. Jack, the younger of the two, was in
temporary retirement from racing, for he had cracked
his skull in a hurdle race at the end of the previous
winter. This did not prevent him from hunting, and
he was usually to be seen out on some borrowed
horse which had proved itself completely beyond the
control of its owner. Charlie was rather more par-
ticular about what he rode, and was, correspondingly,
a more reticent character. These brothers did and
said pretty well what they pleased in the Packlestone