“That’s a matter,” added Trimbush, “I must leave to be decided between you and Ned Adams;” and then turning upon his side he closed his eyes, and a deep, low snore quickly proclaimed him to be in the land of shadowy dreams.
I found kennel life at first very tedious, and soon began to pine for the farm-house, liberty, and a romp with the shaggy old shepherd’s dog. I became so home-sick at length, that had the opportunity offered, I should have run away; but when taken for exercise, I was always coupled with a companion, and no chance given of an escape from my thraldom. Notwithstanding the kindness of the feeder, in offering me food twice, and occasionally even three times a day, I got thinner and thinner, and instead of the sleek and bright coat which I had upon leaving my walk, my hackles now began to stare and to look little less rough than a badger’s skin. Trimbush, too, essayed to relieve me from my load of misery, and recounted many a tale of interest to wean me from gloomy reflections; but it was all to no purpose. I could not forget the pleasures of home.
“He’ll be right enough in a day or two,” said the huntsman to an expression of regret from the feeder at my altered appearance. “Let him go cub-hunting once, and he will not sulk another hour.”
“I believe ye,” rejoined the feeder. “There’s too good blood in him for that, after he has winded a fox.”
“Well, then,” added the huntsman, “to-morrow at daylight we draw Wiverton Gorse; and if it does not hold a litter, it will be the first time since my servitude—a matter of twenty-five years and more.”
CHAPTER II.
“But, look! the morn, in russet mantle clad,
Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastern hill.”