“Ay, sir,” returned the huntsman, with a knowing shake of the head. “If we have as good, we’ve none better.”
“Thanks to my instructions,” growled Trimbush.
“Come, come,” said I, “don’t be jealous of the little praise I’m getting. You receive your share.”
“Jealous?” repeated my companion, with a proud lash of his stern, “I flatter myself that I can afford to be generous.”
Seeing, however, that he was a little annoyed at the attention I received, I said nothing more, but jogged in silence by the side of the Squire’s horse.
“By the way,” said our master, addressing Will, “in speaking of haste, let this morning be another lesson to you not to take your hounds off their noses with a sinking fox. More are lost by that than by any other mistake committed. There was every probability of your leaving your fox behind in the ditch, and then you would have said that he had headed back to cover. A fresh one would have been got up, and the error remained undiscovered. Countless foxes, booked safe to die, are changed in this manner, and escape from no other reason than from taking hounds off their noses. Remember this, William.”
The huntsman touched his cap, and the conversation dropped.