he Squire; "the gorses first by all means. I
remember when there was always a fox at Barford Gorse. Come along. I
hate to see time wasted. You'll be glad to hear we're full of foxes
at Newton. There were two litters bred in Bostock Spring;--two,
by Jove! in that little place. Dan,"--Dan was his second
horseman,--"I'll ride the young one this morning. You have Paddywhack
fresh for me about one." Paddywhack was the old Irish horse which had
carried him so long, and has been mentioned before. There was nothing
remarkable in all this. There was no word spoken that might not have
been said with a good grace by any old sportsman, who knew the men
around him, and who had long preserved foxes for their use;--but
still it was felt that the Squire was a little loud. Ralph the son,
on whose behalf all this triumph was felt, was silenter than usual,
and trotted along at the rear of the long line of horsemen.

One specially intimate friend of his,--a man whom he really
loved,--hung back with the object of congratulating him. "Ralph,"
said George Morris, of Watheby Grove, a place about four miles from
the Priory, "I must tell you how glad I am of all this."

"All right, old fellow."

"Come; you might show out a little to me. Isn't it grand? We shall
always have you among us now. Don't tell me that you are
indifferent."

"I think enough about it, God knows, George. But it seems to me that
the less said about it the better. My father has behaved nobly to
me, and of course I like to feel that I've got a place in the world
marked out for me. But--"

"But what?"

"You understand it all, George. There shouldn't be rejoicing in a
family because the heir has lost his inheritance."

"I can't look at it in that line."

"I can't look at it in any other," said Ralph. "Mind you, I'm not
saying that it isn't all right. What has happened to him has come of
his own doings. I only mean that we ought to be quiet about it. My
father's spirits are so high, that he can hardly control them."

"By George, I don't wonder at it," said George Morris.

There were three little bits of gorse about half-a-mile from Barford
Wood, as to which it seemed that expectation did not run high, but
from the last of which an old fox broke before the hounds were in
it. It was so sudden a thing that the pack was on the scent and away
before half-a-dozen men had seen what had happened. Our Squire had
been riding with Cox, the huntsman, who had ventured to say how