‘Most polite of your lordship, I’m sure,’ said Jawleyford, with a low bow, and laying his hand on his breast.  ’I can assure you I shall never forget the marked attention I have received from your lordship this day.’

‘Thank you for nothing,’ grunted his lordship to himself.

Bump, bump; trot, trot; jabber, jabber, on they went as before.

They had now got to the cover, Tickler Gorse, and ere the last horsemen had reached the last angle of the long hill, Frostyface was rolling about on foot in the luxuriant evergreen; now wholly visible, now all but overhead, like a man buffeting among the waves of the sea.  Save Frosty’s cheery voice encouraging the invisible pack to ‘wind him!’ and ‘rout him out!’ an injunction that the shaking of the gorse showed they willingly obeyed, and an occasional exclamation from Jawleyford, of ’Beautiful! beautiful!—­never saw better hounds!—­can’t be a finer pack!’ not a sound disturbed the stillness of the scene.  The waggoners on the road stopped their wains, the late noisy ploughmen leaned vacantly on their stilts, the turnip-pullers stood erect in air, and the shepherds’ boys deserted the bleating flocks;—­all was life and joy and liberty—­’Liberty, equality, and foxhunt-ity!’

‘Yo—­i—­cks, wind him!  Y—­o—­o—­icks! rout him out!’ went Frosty; occasionally varying the entertainment with a loud crack of his heavy whip, when he could get upon a piece of rising ground to clear the thong.

‘Tally-ho!’ screamed Jawleyford, hoisting the Bumperkin Yeomanry cap in the air.  ‘Tally-ho!’ repeated he, looking triumphantly round, as much as to say, ‘What a clever boy am I!’

‘Hold your noise!’ roared Jack, who was posted a little below.  ’Don’t you see it’s a hare?’ added he, amidst the uproarious mirth of the company.

’I haven’t your great staring specs on, or I should have seen he hadn’t a tail,’ retorted Jawleyford, nettled at the tone in which Jack had addressed him.

‘Tail be—!’ replied Jack, with a sneer; ’who but a tailor would call it a tail?’

Just then a light low squeak of a whimper was heard in the thickest part of the gorse, and Frostyface cheered the hound to the echo.  ’Hoick to, Pillager!  H—­o—­o—­ick!’ screamed he, in a long-drawn note, that thrilled through every frame, and set the horses a-capering.

Ere Frosty’s prolonged screech was fairly finished, there was such an outburst of melody, and such a shaking of the gorse-bushes, as plainly showed there was no safety for Reynard in cover; and great was the bustle and commotion among the horsemen.  Mr. Fossick lowered his hat-string and ran the fox’s tooth through the buttonhole; Fyle drew his girths; Washball took a long swig at his hunting-horn-shaped monkey; Major Mark and Mr. Archer threw away their cigar ends; Mr. Bliss drew on his dogskin gloves; Mr. Wake rolled the thong of his whip round the stick, to be better able to encounter his puller; Mr. Sparks got a yokel