Meerpore, with its hospitable manager as my nearest neighbour. His
lands and mine lay contiguous. In fact some of his villages lay beyond
some of mine, and he had to ride through part of my cultivation to
reach them.

Not unfrequently we would meet in the zillah of a morning, when we
would invariably make for the nearest patch of grass or jungle, and
enjoy a hunt together. In the cool early mornings, when the heavy night
dews still lie glittering on the grass, when the cobwebs seem strung
with pearls, and faint lines of soft fleecy mist lie in the hollows by
the watercourses; long ere the hot, fiery sun has left his crimson bed
behind the cold grey horizon, we are out on our favourite horse, the
wiry, long-limbed _syce_ or groom trotting along behind us. The
_mehter_ or dog-keeper is also in attendance with a couple of
greyhounds in leash, and a motley pack of wicked little terriers
frisking and frolicking behind him. This mongrel collection is known as
'the Bobbery Pack,' and forms a certain adjunct to every assistant's
bungalow in the district. I had one very noble-looking kangaroo hound
that I had brought from Australia with me, and my 'bobbery pack' of
terriers contained canine specimens of all sorts, sizes, and colours.

On nearing a village, you would see one black fellow, 'Pincher,' set
off at a round trot ahead, with seemingly the most innocent air in the
world. 'Tilly,' 'Tiny,' and 'Nipper' follow.

Then 'Dandy,' 'Curly,' 'Brandy,' and 'Nettle,' till spying a cat in the
distance, the whole pack with a whimper of excitement dash off at a mad
scramble, the hound straining meanwhile at the slip, till he almost
pulls the _mehter_ off his legs. Off goes the cat, round the corner of
a hut with her tail puffed up to fully three times its normal size.