The Story of Kennett | Page 5

elbow.
Gilbert smiled good-humoredly, but said nothing, and a little laugh
went around the circle. Mr. Fortune seemed to understand the matter in

a flash. He looked at the brown, shaggy-maned animal, standing behind
its owner, with its head down, and said, in a low, sharp tone: "I
see--where did you get him?"
Gilbert returned the speaker's gaze a moment before he answered.
"From a drover," he then said.
"By the Lord!"-ejaculated Mr. Barton, who had again conspicuously
displayed his watch, "it's over half-past one. Look out for the
hounds,--we must start, if we mean to do any riding this day!"
The owners of the hounds picked out their several animals and dragged
them aside, in which operation they were uproariously assisted by the
boys. The chase in Kennett, it must be confessed, was but a very faint
shadow of the old English pastime. It had been kept up, in the
neighborhood, from the force of habit in the Colonial times, and under
the depression which the strong Quaker element among the people
exercised upon all sports and recreations. The breed of hounds, not
being restricted to close communion, had considerably degenerated,
and few, even of the richer farmers, could afford to keep thoroughbred
hunters for this exclusive object. Consequently all the features of the
pastime had become rude and imperfect, and, although very respectable
gentlemen still gave it their countenance, there was a growing
suspicion that it was a questionable, if not demoralizing diversion. It
would be more agreeable if we could invest the present occasion with a
little more pomp and dignity; but we must describe the event precisely
as it occurred.
The first to greet Gilbert were his old friends, Joe and Jake Fairthorn.
These boys loudly lamented that their father had denied them the loan
of his old gray mare, Bonnie; they could ride double on a gallop, they
said; and wouldn't Gilbert take them along, one before and one behind
him? But he laughed and shook his head.
"Well, we've got Watch, anyhow," said Joe, who thereupon began
whispering very earnestly to Jake, as the latter seized the big family
bull-dog by the collar. Gilbert foreboded mischief, and kept his eye
upon the pair.

A scuffle was heard in the corn-crib, into which Giles had descended.
The boys shuddered and chuckled in a state of delicious fear, which
changed into a loud shout of triumph, as the soldier again made his
appearance at the door, with the fox in his arms, and a fearless hand
around its muzzle.
"By George! what a fine brush!" exclaimed Mr. Ferris.
A sneer, quickly disguised in a grin, ran over Fortune's face. The
hounds howled and tugged; Giles stepped rapidly across the open space
where the knoll sloped down to the meadow. It was a moment of
intense expectation.
Just then, Joe and Jake Fairthorn let go their hold on the bull-dog's
collar; but Gilbert Potter caught the animal at the second bound. The
boys darted behind the corn-crib, scared less by Gilbert's brandished
whip than by the wrath and astonishment in Mr. Barton's face.
"Cast him off, Giles!" the latter cried.
The fox, placed upon the ground, shot down the slope and through the
fence into the meadow. Pausing then, as if first to assure himself of his
liberty, he took a quick, keen survey of the ground before him, and then
started off towards the left.
"He's making for the rocks!" cried Mr. Ferris; to which the stranger,
who was now watching the animal with sharp interest, abruptly
answered, "Hold your tongue!"
Within a hundred yards the fox turned to the right, and now, having
apparently made up his mind to the course, struck away in a steady but
not hurried trot. In a minute he had reached the outlying trees of the
timber along the creek.
"He's a cool one, he is!" remarked Giles, admiringly.
By this time he was hidden by the barn from the sight of the hounds,
and they were let loose. While they darted about in eager quest of the

scent, the hunters mounted in haste. Presently an old dog gave tongue
like a trumpet, the pack closed, and the horsemen followed. The boys
kept pace with them over the meadow, Joe and Jake taking the lead,
until the creek abruptly stopped their race, when they sat down upon
the bank and cried bitterly, as the last of the hunters disappeared
through the thickets on the further side.
It was not long before a high picket-fence confronted the riders. Mr.
Ferris, with a look of dismay, dismounted. Fortune, Barton, and Gilbert
Potter each threw off a heavy "rider," and leaped their horses over the
rails. The others followed through the gaps thus made, and all swept
across the field at full speed, guided by the