fat, piebald pony that she was riding would have a sore back before
she got home. Christian, perched wren-like on her ancient steed (but a
wren placed with mathematical accuracy of directness with relation to
the steed's ears), noted with disfavour the crooked seat, the heavy
hand on the curb. Larry, hot and pink, with hat hanging by its guard,
his fair hair looking like storm-tossed corn-stooks, noted nothing,
being wholly engrossed in bitter conflict with Tommy. The art of
keeping a good start with hounds is not given to many, and least of
all to the young and inexperienced. From having been first of the
first, it had fallen to Larry and Christian to find themselves last,
and last in the despised company of Charles and "the Mangan girl."

The unexacting position of being at the heel of the hunt may have a
charm for the philosophic or unambitious, but so black a continuation
of so great a start was a trial quite beyond the endurance of a young
gentleman possessed of the artistic temperament. And then the
abominable Mangan girl came into play, and joined in the circling
performance at the big bank. Always, when Larry felt that this time
the cob was going to "have it," that cow-like red and white beast
would jam itself in the way, so he thought, raging. In this matter of
hunting, Dr. Mangan had not been well advised in his scheme for his
little girl's social advantage.

In the meantime the hounds had run their fox into Drumkeen Wood, and
the riders, arriving in small and breathless companies, thanked God
for a check, and tightened their girths and took courage. The latter
would undoubtedly be needed if the run continued; Drumkeen Wood was
hung like a cloak upon the side of a steep hill, and was the
invariable prelude to the worst going within the bounds of the hunt.