he said; at which there was a general silence and consternation, and by
no means a pleasant look in Becky's eyes; but she was obliged to allow
the incident to pass in silence.

But the greatest day of all was that on which Sir Huddlestone
Fuddlestone's hounds met upon the lawn at Queen's Crawley.

That was a famous sight for little Rawdon. At half-past ten Tom Moody,
Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone's huntsman, was seen trotting up the avenue,
followed by the noble pack of hounds in a compact body, the rear being
brought up by the two whips clad in stained scarlet frocks, light,
hard-featured lads on well-bred lean horses, possessing marvellous
dexterity in casting the points of their long, heavy whips at the
thinnest part of any dog's skin who dared to straggle from the main body,
or to take the slightest notice, or even so much as wink at the hares and
rabbits starting under their noses.

Next came boy Jack, Tom Moody's son, who weighed five stone, measured
eight and forty inches, and would never be any bigger. He was perched on
a large raw-boned hunter, half covered by a capacious saddle. This animal
was Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone's favourite horse, the Nob. Other horses
ridden by other small boys arrived from time to time, awaiting their
masters, who came cantering on anon.

Tom Moody rode up presently, and he and his pack drew off into a
sheltered corner of the lawn, where the dogs rolled on the grass, and
played or growled angrily at one another, ever and anon breaking out into
furious fights, speedily to be quelled by Tom's voice, unmatched at
rating, or the snaky thongs of the whips.

Many young gentlemen cantered up on thoroughbred hacks, spatter-dashed to
the knee, and entered the house to pay their respects to the ladies, or,
more modest and sportsmanlike, divested themselves of their mud-boots,
exchanged their hacks for their hunters, and warmed their blood by a
preliminary gallop round the lawn. Then they collected round the pack in
the corner, and talked with Tom Moody of past sport, and the merits of
Sniveller and Diamond, and of the state of the country and of the
wretched breed of foxes.

Sir Huddlestone presently appears mounted on a clever cob, and rides up
to the Hall, where he enters and does the civil thing by the ladies,
after which, being a man of few words, he proceeds to business. The
hounds are drawn up to the hall-door, and little Rawdon descends among
them, excited yet half alarmed by the