"Steady, there!" exclaimed Selwyn, bringing his walking stick to a brisk
bayonet defence; "steady, men! Prepare to receive infantry--and doggery,
too!" he added, backing away. "No quarter! Remember the Alamo!"

The man at the door had been too horrified to speak, but he found his
voice now.

"Oh, you hush up, Dawson!" said the boy; and to Selwyn he added
tentatively, "Hello!"

"Hello yourself," replied Selwyn, keeping off the circling pups with the
point of his stick. "What is this, anyway--a Walpurgis hunt?--or Eliza
and the bloodhounds?"

Several children, disentangling themselves from the heap, rose to
confront the visitor; the shocked man, Dawson, attempted to speak again,
but Selwyn's raised hand quieted him.

The small boy with the blond hair stepped forward and dragged several
dogs from the vicinity of Selwyn's shins.

"This is the Shallowbrook hunt," he explained; "I am Master of Hounds;
my sister Drina, there, is one of the whips. Part of the game is to all
fall down together and pretend we've come croppers. You see, don't you?"

"I see," nodded Selwyn; "it's a pretty stiff hunting country, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. There's wire, you know," volunteered the girl, Drina,
rubbing the bruises on her plump shins.