“Yes; he’s a trifle weedy for a beagle; he is really a typical harrier hound,” said Mr. Hugh. “He gets that combination through his grandfather, who was a foxhound, and one of the truest dogs in the country.
Jack.
“You see, Mistress Anne, Jack’s grandmother was a handsome, wild, headstrong young thing like Jill here, and she didn’t wait until her family arranged a match for her with one of her own class, but eloped with Squire Burley’s handsome hound, Meadowlark. Her family would not forgive her at first or recognize her husband, and the poor thing had a sad time of it; that is why your father was able to buy Waddles for five dollars. But never mind, for if Jack has his grandfather’s long legs he’ll make a good runner, and I think that he has his good temper and cleverness as well—we always take Meadowlark out with Leonora and Wildbrier when we are training the young hounds, for he keeps them together and we seldom lose one, and that reminds me, we are going out to-night for the first time this season. Later on, you shall go, for on an autumn night there’s nothing like the music of hounds. Even with the mixed pack we have, one or two from half a dozen farms, every man can recognize the voice of his own dog.
“Where do we go to-night? Ah, this will be merely baby work; we lead Squire Burley’s pet fox around the brush lots for a couple of miles and then when he’s safely home and in bed, we put the youngsters and a couple of steady old dogs on the trail; then, when they come back, we give the babes something good to eat as a reward.
“Later we go out in earnest and follow the real trails on foot to locate the dens for the autumn and winter clearing. It’s good work; foxes are no joke to the farmers in the back country.”
“I’d love to go, that is, sometime when you aren’t killing the foxes. They seem too much like dogs to kill them. Don’t you think Miss Letty would like to go? I heard her ask Miss Jule the other day if she ‘rode to hounds’ in the fall, and said that she had done it in England, but Miss Jule said, ‘hereabouts some people ride and some run, for we shoot our foxes, which is more to the point than letting the dogs tear them to bits;’ but Miss Letty thought she wouldn’t care to run.”
“No; nor ride far either,” said Mr. Hugh, dryly.