"I say he is. He has turned here. I say we must try back. Barty, whip those hounds back to me." Mr. Freyne blew his whistle shrilly.
"Grandjer's touching the line," said Darby; "put them on, Barty."
Dearest George wished frantically to know what he wore a black cap for if he was not to put forward opinions.
"Forrard on, Grandjer!" remarked Darby.
"And I will cast back," stormed Dearest George, "or—or resign, Darby, resign."
"Well, cast away," said Darby affably. "Cast them back now, if you can"—for at the moment Beauty gave a long yowl of joy, and held on steadily, throwing her tongue; Grandjer, Daisy and Spinster following suit.
"That is the way we came up. Heel! Back trail!" cried George Freyne.
Darby said thoughtfully it must be a really heavy heel to leave its mark for so long, and cheered hounds in the same breath.
"To know which way he has run away," cried Psyche ecstatically. "Oh, Mr. Dillon, you are wonderful!"
Darby was not accustomed to whole-hearted admiration; he smiled at the little white face which peered almost over his shoulder.