h. The more experienced would have known what that
was, for their noses would have told them in a trice. When snow falls and
a hare finds itself being gradually covered by the flakes, it does what
it can to bury itself deeper; but always with this eye on life--that it
assiduously keeps a hole open that it may breathe, and always to the
leeward. Such is one of many evidences of clever instinct to be met with
for ever in the fields.

Thus, before this young dog knew well what had happened, there sprang, as
if by magic, from the snow a beauteous animal, strong of scent and fleet
of foot, and heading straight away from him at top speed.

He heard a voice calling many names, and at the same time the crack of a
whip. But his name was not among the rest; and he just had time to notice
that the Over-Lord stood still, with the other dogs about him. Then he
was off in pursuit, straight as a line for the river. There the hare made
its first turn, Murphy being twenty yards in rear. He was running mute
now, and both hare and dog were settling to their work--the one to escape
if it could, the other to catch, if so it might be. They were through the
far fence a moment later, and disappeared, only, however, quickly to
return and take a line straight down this thirty-acre piece. It was a
stretch of nearly a quarter of a mile, and ere they reached the further
fence Murphy was gaining ground. The hare doubled at the boundary, and
then doubled again, making the figure of a giant eight on the glittering
golden surface of the snow.

Was the dog really gaining? It was a fine course. The hare was evidently
a late leveret of the previous season; the dog was scarcely more than
seven months old. How would it end? The Over-Lord stood and watched,
determined that none should interfere. There should be fair play in a
fair field, if he could only keep a grip upon these others that were
whimpering and shivering and straining at the leash. He had passed the
thong of his whip through the collar of the old dog, so all were really
well within control.

Would the young dog last? That was the crucial question. The hare had had
many a run before this to save her skin, and was hardened by the life of
the breezy downs and the wide fields. But the dog had never previously
been tried in such a way: his life had been more or less an artificial
one, and he had never been called upon to lay himself out, or been put to
such a strain as these almost maddening mome