hearts, the sport presently began and drove all else away.

The sport was done in this way:

The two that rode in front selected each from the cadge one of his own
falcons (it was peregrines that were used at the beginning of the day,
since they were first after partridges), and so rode, carrying his
falcon on his wrist, hooded, belled, and in the leash, ready to cast
off. Immediately before them went a lad with a couple of dogs to nose
the game--these also in a leash until they stiffened. Then the lad
released them and stepped softly back, while the riders moved on at a
foot's-pace, and the spaniels behind rose on their hind legs, choked by
the chain, whimpering, fifty yards in the rear. Slowly the dogs
advanced, each a frozen model of craft and blood-lust, till an instant
afterwards, with a whir and a chattering like a broken clock, the covey
whirled from the thick growth underfoot, and flashed away northwards;
and, a moment later, up went the peregrines behind them. Then, indeed,
it was _sauve qui peut_, for the ground was full of holes here and
there, though there were grass-stretches as well on which all rode with
loose rein, the two whose falcons were sprung always in front, according
to custom, and the rest in a medley behind. Away then went the birds,
pursued and pursuers, till, like a falling star the falcon stooped, and
then, maybe, the other a moment later, down upon the quarry; and a
minute later there was the falcon back again shivering with pride and
ecstasy, or all ruffle-feathered with shame, back on his master's wrist,
and another torn partridge, or maybe two, in the bottom of the lad's
bag; and arguments went full pelt, and cries, and sometimes sharp words,
and faults were found, and praise was given, and so, on for another
pair.

It was but natural that Robin and Marjorie should compete one against
the other, for they were riding together and talked together. So
presently Mr. Thomas called to them, and beckoned them to their places.
Robin set aside Agnes on to the cadge and chose Magdalen, and Marjorie
chose Sharpie. The array was set, and all moved forward.

It was a short chase and a merry one. Two birds rose from the heather
and flew screaming, skimming low, as from behind them moved on the
shadows of death, still as clouds, with great noiseless sweeps of
sickle-shaped wings. Behind came the gallopers; Marjorie on her black
horse, Robin on Cecily, seeming to compete, yet each content if either