It is ten years since Mr. Hall did the Bullshire country the honour of becoming a resident, and in that time he has managed to assert himself considerably, and may now be considered "no small pumpkins." At least the Hall family look on themselves in that light, and surely they must be the best judges.

Hall père is a good-natured open-handed sportsman, who rides the best horses, smokes the best cigars, and drinks the best wine that money can procure, but who has the misfortune to consider himself an authority on sport and hunting, and is also afflicted[Pg 198] with a weakness for seeing his lucubrations in print.

Mrs. Hall, on the other hand, affects the evangelical r?le, and is forever establishing crèches, forming night-schools, and endeavouring to lead the young men of Bullshire in the way that they should go. She is also of a literary turn of mind, and has published more than once under the auspices of the S.P.C.K. Her latest effort was not quite a success, owing, she says, to "bitter and unchristian hostility."

She had spent much time on the completion of a "sporto-religious" novel—"one that anybody might read without a blush," as she put it; and when finished she called it "A Heavenly Hunt, or Hints by the Way."

Harold Lappington and a few kindred spirits, however, were unkind enough to parody the book; and a week afterwards was distributed broadcast throughout the country, "Running a Ring, or Hints on Matrimony."

The joke was too good not to be [Pg 199]appreciated, and one may safely say that the only person who did not see it was Mrs. Hall herself. Even her husband laughed at her, and talked grandiloquently about writing on subjects that she did not understand.

It was for a long time a mystery to the members of the Hunt how the accounts of their sport got into the papers, and Sir John tried in vain to discover the reporter. Marvellously accurate were the descriptions of the run, names of places, distances, what each particular hound did, where Tom made his cast for better or for worse, and the various incidents or accidents of the chase were all set forth without an error. So men came to the conclusion that it must be some one of the hard-riders, and consequently were more puzzled than ever. Everybody was accused in turn—the Doctor, the Parson, even Mrs. Talford; but all denied the soft impeachment.

When the matter was alluded to at the hunt-dinner by Sir John, it was noticed that[Pg 200] Mr. Hall did not look quite as if he was enjoying his dinner, and whispers of "It's old Hall; look at him," passed from one to the other.

"But then Hall never rides a yard. How the deuce could he know all about it?" said others; and the matter was as far from being solved as ever.

Old Tom, however, determines to get at the bottom of it, and as he rides to Brainsty cross-roads, he maps out a plan of operations. It is not a nice day by any means, a high blustering north-east wind blowing, as Tom says, "fit to turn yer inside out;" and, as he takes refuge with the pack behind a barn, the old Huntsman does not anticipate much sport. The field arrive by twos and threes, with heads bent down and upturned collars, looking as wretched as men generally do when beating up against a gale. Almost the last comer is Mr. Hall, who immediately gives it as his opinion that there cannot possibly be any fun, and that he should not[Pg 201] be surprised if Sir John took the hounds home.

"I've seen 'em run hard in worse weather nor this, sir," says Tom, with a smile and a shiver.

"Well, I never have, and you may take it I know something about hunting," replies the Authority.

"What's that?" asks the Master, who has just got on to his horse.

"Nothing, Sir John; nothing. I only said that there would be no sport, and Tom seems to think differently;" and then, turning to the men about him, Mr. Hall continues: "It's impossible for any scent to lie with this wind. Besides, what fox in his senses would face it?"

"There's more nor one kind o' scent, and if t' fox wunna face t' wind, ay mun travel wi' it," puts in Tom, and then trots off best pace to draw Ambleside Banks.

When they arrive at the covert, Mr. Hall informs everybody that "It is no use going[Pg 202] to the far side; no fox ever breaks there. Never has done yet;" and on some of his audience paying no attention, he shouts: "Oh, all right; don't blame me if you're thrown out."

Scarcely are the words out of his mouth than the sound of Tom's horn comes down on the wind, and the pack are away in full cry, the fox breaking just where Mr. Hall had said he would not. A sharp burst over two fields, a quick turn, and then down-wind like lightning, the pace increasing every yard.

Unfortunately for the Authority, he does not notice the turn, and, riding hard along the lane for a point, he finds himself on reaching the top of a small hill utterly lost, no sign of the hounds and no sound of any sort to guide him. After riding about aimlessly in every direction for the best part of an hour, he at last hears tidings of their being down Hinckley way, and off he goes, only to hear that "T' hounds a-been gone better nor twenty minutes." It is now getting[Pg 203] late, so Mr. Hall makes up his mind to ride home via the kennels, where for a moment we will leave him and return to Tom and the rest of the field.

After ten minutes as fast as they can go, the fox tries the low wall of a farmyard, but the pace has been too hot for him, and he falls back right into the mouths of the pack. Having performed the funeral rites, Tom gets his orders for Hinckley, and then commence a series of disappointments. Foxes there are, for one is soon halloed away; but the hounds can make nothing of it directly they get into the open. Two or three times this happens, and it becomes evident that Mr. Hall was right in the main, and that they could not hunt that day. So at last the Master gives the word for home, for which few blame him.

As Tom rides along the road to the kennels, he tells Charles and Harry they are to be sure and say that it has been a first-class thing, and to back him up in everything he says. Naturally they both wonder what[Pg 204] the old man is up to, but Tom holds his peace, and will tell them nothing, looking the while as knowing as a jackdaw who has just hidden something valuable. Evidently he has concocted some scheme, and a light begins to dawn on the two Whips when the figure of Mr. Hall is seen in the distance.

"Why, Mayster Hall, wheer an yer been to?" says Tom, as they overtake the lost one.<............