Taylour had sunk so low as to suggest that a drag should be run with
the assistance of the ferret's bag, a scheme only frustrated by the
regrettable fact that the ferret and its owner had gone home.

"Well we had a nice bit of schooling, anyhow, and, it's been a real
educational day for the hounds," said Freddy, turning in his saddle to
look at the fires of the frosty sunset. "I'm glad they had it. I think
we're in for a go of hard weather. I don't know what I should have done
only for you, old chap. Patsey's gone all to pieces: it's my belief he's
been on the drink this whole week, and where he gets it--"

"Hullo! Hold hard!" interrupted Mr. Taylour. "What's Governor after?"

They were riding along a grass-grown farm road outside the Craffroe
demesne; the grey wall made a sharp bend to the right, and just at the
corner Governor had begun to gallop, with his nose to the ground and his
stern up. The rest of the pack joined him in an instant, and all swung
round the corner and were lost to sight.

"It's a fox!" exclaimed Freddy, snatching up his reins; "they always
cross into the demesne just here!"

By the time he and Mr. Taylour were round the corner the hounds had
checked fifty yards ahead, and were eagerly hunting to and fro for the
lost scent, and a little further down the old road they saw a woman
running away from them.

"Hi, ma'am!" bellowed Freddy, "did you see the fox?"

The woman made no answer.