“They have lost the scent,” said the old horse; “perhaps the hare will get off.”

“What hare?” I said.

“Oh, I don’t know what hare; likely enough it may be one of our own hares out of the woods; any hare they can find will do for the dogs and men to run after”; and before long the dogs began their “yo; yo, o, o!” again, and back they came all together at full speed, making straight for our meadow at the part where the high bank and hedge overhang the brook.

“Now we shall see the hare,” said my mother; and just then a hare, wild with fright, rushed by and made for the woods.  On came the dogs; they burst over the bank, leaped the stream and came dashing across the field, followed by the huntsmen.  Several men leaped their horses clean over, close upon the dogs.  The hare tried to get through the fence; it was too thick, and she turned sharp around to make for the road, but it was too late; the dogs were upon her with their wild cries; we heard one shriek, and that was the end of her.  One of the huntsmen rode up and whipped off the dogs, who would soon have torn her to pieces.  He held her up by the leg, torn and bleeding, and all the gentlemen seemed well pleased.

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As for me, I was so astonished that I did not at first see what was going on by the brook; but when I did look, there was a sad sight; two fine horses were down; one was struggling in the stream, and the other was groaning on the grass.  One of the riders was getting out of the water covered with mud, the other lay quite still.

“His neck is broken,” said my mother.

“And serves him right, too,” said one of the colts.

I thought the same, but my mother did not join with us.

“Well, no,” she said, “you must not say that; but though I am an old horse, and have seen and heard a great deal, I never yet could make out why men are so fond of this sport; they often hurt themselves, often spoil good horses, and tear up the fields, and all for a hare, or a fox, or a stag, that they could get more easily some other way; but we are only horses, and don’t know.”

While my mother was saying this, we stood and looked on.  Many of the riders had gone to the young man; but my master was the first to raise him.  His head fell back and his arms hung down, and every one looked very serious.  There was no noise now; even the dogs were quiet, and seemed to know that something was wrong.  They carried him to our master’s house.  I heard afterwards that it was the squire’s only son, a fine, tall young man, and the pride of his family.

They were now riding in all directions—­to the doctor’s, and to Squire Gordon’s, to let him know about his son.  When Bond, the farrier, came to look at the black horse that lay groaning on the grass, he felt him all over, and shook his head; one of his legs was broken.  Then some one ran to our master’s house and came back with a gun; presently there was a loud bang and a dreadful shriek, and then all was still; the black horse moved no more.