“A, she’s not here—she’s not here, but I see her in her form thonder,” replied Springer, nodding towards the adjoining bush-dotted hill.
“Go to her, then,” said the Major, jingling the eighteen-pence in his hand, to be ready to give him on view of the hare.
The man then led the way through rushes, brambles, and briars, keeping a steady eye on the spot where she sate. At length he stopped. “There she’s, see!” said he, _sotto voce_, pointing to the green hill-side.
“I have her!” whispered the Major, his keen eyes sparkling with delight. “Come here,” said he to Billy, “and I’ll show her to you. There,” said he, “there you see that patch of gorse with the burnt stick stumps, at the low end—well, carry your eye down the slope of the land, past the old willow-tree, and you have her as plain as a pike-staff.”
Billy shook his head. He saw nothing but a tuft or two of rough grass.
“O yes, you see her large eyes watching us,” continued the Major, “thinking she sees us without our seeing her.
“Very odd,” laughed the Major, “very odd,” with the sort of vexation a man feels when another can’t be made to see the object he does.
“Will you give them a view now?” asked Springer, “or put her away quietly?”
“Oh, put her away quietly,” replied the Major, “put her away quietly; and let them get their noses well down to the scent;” adding—“I’ve got some strange hounds out, and I want to see how they work.”
The man then advanced a few paces, and touching one of the apparently lifeless tufts with his pole, out sprang puss and went stotting and dotting away with one ear back and the other forward, in a state of indignant perturbation. “Buck!” exclaims Pitfall, watching her as she goes.
“Doubt it,” replied the Major, scrutinising her attentively.
“Nay look at its head and shoulders; did you iver see sic red shoulders as those on a doe?” asked Springer.
“Well,” said the Major, “there’s your money,” handing Springer the eighteen-pence, “and I hope she’ll be worth it; but mind, for the futur’ a shillin’s my price.”
After scudding up the hill, puss stopped to listen and ascertain the quality of her pursuers. She had suffered persecution from many hands, shooters, coursers, snarers, and once before from the Major and his harriers. That, however, was on a bad scenting day, and she had not had much difficulty in beating them.