"Mornin', mayster," says he to old Tom; "whear be you a-going furst?" and on hearing that Collingly Wood will be the first draw, he turns to his companion and says: "By Guy, mate, we mun look slippy or we shanna be there in time."
It is not every day in the week that these "horny-handed sons of toil" get an outing, and they do not mean to lose their chance of seeing the fun if they can help it. So away they go, followed by three or four boys, towards the big wood seen in the distance. They have not gone far before they discover that they have followers, and knowing well that with these in their wake it will be impossible to secrete themselves in an advantageous position, they turn round and deliver a few home-truths, which, though not particularly elegant, answer the purpose, and have the desired effect of getting rid of the boys. This done, they continue their route till they arrive at the hunting-gate leading into the covert.
"Now I wonder which end t' ould mon will begin at?" asks the elder of his companion.
"I dunna knoa," replies Number Two, putting his finger into his mouth and holding it up; "but from the way o' the wind I should say as 'e'll start down here; bound to go up-wind."
No fool in matters of sport is Hodge, and, chawbacon as you may call him, you would find it hard to puzzle him on the subject of the "run of a fox," always provided he understood your questions. Old Tom knows his value well, and over and over again have things been put straight by the far-seeing blue eye; and "'E's gone yonder by th' ould barn," or "I'v seed 'im cross o'er bottom," has enabled the Huntsman to hit off the line without wasting the precious moments in a long and speculative cast.
The two "mates" have barely ensconced themselves comfortably on the top of a stack of "cordwood," from whence they can command more than half the wood, when the pack arrive, and the horsemen, as they file through the gateway, are subjected to a running fire of criticism. Woe betide the man whose animal obstinately refuses some small fence within sight of Hodge and Co. Although the rider will not hear the speech, the loud laugh from one or the other tells him plainly enough that he is the cause of their merriment, and he wishes himself—or them—farther away. As soon as the hounds are thrown in the occupants of the cordwood stack become excited, and the younger of them, our friend of the road, suggests an adjournment to a tree where he thinks a better view can be obtained.
"Stop where yer be, Jim," says the elder; "yer canna do better, and if yer gets messing about now you'll only have t' Master and old Tom atop o' yer back." So Jim is persuaded, and remains quiet. Presently a yellow body is seen stealing through the underwood, and the chorus of music shows that the hounds are aware of Mr. Reynard's presence.
"There 'e goes," whispers Jim, "and here they come. By Guy, the're away," as the hounds dash through the covert, and a loud "Tally-ho" is heard on the other side. To slip down is the work of an instant, and both Jim and his companion are making the best of their way to the corner where the fox has broken. Here they find a regular crush; the hunting-gate is locked or jammed, and no one can get out. Threading their way through the horses, however, with the help of a good heave, a strong heave, and a heave both together, the pair manage to have the gate off its hinges, and the impatient field rush through, nearly overturning Jim in their mad career.
"Oh, go on, go on," says that worthy, as he jumps out of the way; "some on yer won't go much farther than the first fence at that pace."
And he is right.