"Will I pull out as far as the big rosy-dandhrum, ma'am?" inquired the small boy; "I seen three of the dogs go in it, and they yowling."
"You will," said Mrs. Knox, thumping the donkey on the back with her umbrella; "here! Jeremiah Regan! Come down out of that with that pitchfork! Do you want to kill the fox, you fool?"
"I do not, your honour, ma'am," responded Jeremiah Regan, a tall young countryman, emerging from a bramble brake.
"Did you see him?" said Mrs. Knox eagerly.
"I seen himself and his ten pups drinking below at the lake ere yestherday, your honour, ma'am, and he as big as a chestnut horse!" said Jeremiah.
"Faugh! Yesterday!" snorted Mrs. Knox; "go on to the rhododendrons, Johnny!"
The party, reinforced by Jeremiah and the pitchfork, progressed at a high rate of speed along the shrubbery path, encountering en route Lady Knox, stooping on to her horse's neck under the sweeping branches of the laurels.
"Your horse is too high for my coverts, Lady Knox," said the Lady of the Manor, with a malicious eye at Lady Knox's flushed face and dinged hat; "I'm afraid you will be left behind like Absalom when the hounds go away!"
"As they never do anything here but hunt rabbits," retorted her ladyship, "I don't think that's likely."
Mrs. Knox gave her donkey another whack, and passed on.