Trotting down a steep hill is not one of the joys of the chase, and our heroes, by the time they got to the level bottom, felt as bruised and shaken as if they had been in a railway accident.
However, a mile on the flat pulled them together again, and they plodded on by Bardie’s Farm, where the scent became sparse, and on to Steg where, for the first time since leaving Templeton, they came upon traces of their fellow-man.
The worthy inhabitants of Steg, particularly the junior portion of them, hailed our three heroes with demonstrations of friendly interest. They had turned out fully half an hour ago to see the main body of the hunt go by, and just as they were returning regretfully to their ordinary occupations, the cry of “Three more of ’em!” came as a welcome reprieve, and brought them back into the highway in full force.
Fond of their joke were the friendly youth of Steg, and considering the quiet life they led, their wit was none of the dullest.
“Hurrah! Here’s three more hounds!”
“They’s the puppies, I reckon.”
“Nay, one of ’em’s got the rickets, see.”
“If they don’t look to it, the hares will be round the world and catching them up.”
“Hi! Mister puppy, you’re going wrong; they went t’other way.”
“Shut up!” cried Dick.