We drove him through these little covers without let, check, or stop; and at the last, out he flew in view of all of us. We rushed at him like greyhounds from the slips; but, with a desperate effort to save his life, he managed to dash round the corner of a barn, and, as we turned, I saw him slipping along on the top of a thick square-topped hawthorn fence, and, springing upon the trunk of a tree covered with ivy, disappear. None of the others saw this artful dodge; but all flashed forward, and were bewildered at not either viewing or being able to hit him off. Trimbush flung himself here and there in a perfect fury, and would not pay the smallest attention to what I had to say.
“Put your nose down and work,” said he passionately, “don’t talk to me.”
“But I tell you——”
“Pshaw!” interrupted Trimbush. “What’s your head in the air for?”
“Because the fox is in the air,” replied I.
“What do you mean?” asked he, seeing that I was serious.
I then told him that which I had seen, and inquired what I should do.
“Hold your tongue,” returned the artful old rogue; “it shows a wise head, I’ve heard. Leave the matter to me.”
In order to monopolize the whole of the credit to himself, Trimbush galloped to the tree and dashed at it, in the attempt to climb the knarled and knotted trunk.
“What’s that hound about?” said the Squire, looking greatly astonished.