“Come on, then,” said the good-humoured squire; “we’ll smell ’em out somewhere.”
So the “Firm” turned and trotted in its very best form alongside the worthy magistrate until they reached the point where the scent had struck the road.
The old Templetonian summoned his groom, and, dismounting, joined the boys, with all the ardour of an old sportsman, in their search for the scent. He poked the hedges knowingly with his whip, and tracked up the ditches; he took note of the direction of the wind, and ordered his groom to take his horse a wide sweep of the field opposite on the chance of a discovery.
The boys, fired by his example, strained every nerve to prove themselves good Harriers, and covered a mile or more in their circuits.
At length the old gentleman brought his whip a crack down on his leggings and exclaimed:—
“I have it! Ha! ha! knowing young dogs! Look here, my boy! look here!”
And, taking Dick by the arm, he led him to the point where the scent touched the road.
“Do you see what they’ve done?—artful young scamps! They’ve doubled on their own scent. Usen’t to be allowed in my days.”
And, delighted with his discovery, he led them back along the scent for a hundred yards or so up the field, where it suddenly forked off behind some gorse-bushes, and made straight for the railway at Norton.
“Ha! ha! the best bit of sniffing I’ve had these many years. And, now I come to think of it, with the wind the way it is blowing, they may have dropped their scent fair, and the breeze has taken it on to the old track. Cunning young dogs!”