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Mr. Bragg was in
ecstasies, and rode in a manner very contrary to his wont. All again was
life, energy, and action; and even some who hoped there was an end of the
thing, and that they might go home and say, as usual, 'that they had had a
very good run, but not killed,' were induced to proceed.
Away they all went as before.
At the end of eighteen minutes more the hounds ran into their fox in the
little green valley below Mountnessing Wood, and Mr. Bragg had him
stretched on the green with the pack baying about him, and the horses of
the field-riders getting led about by the country people, while the riders
stood glorying in the splendour of the thing. All had a direct interest in
making it out as good as possible, and Mr. Bragg was quite ready to
appropriate as much praise as ever they liked to give.
''Ord dim him,' said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, 'but
Mr. Bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description.'
'You hunted him well!' exclaimed Charley Slapp, who was trumpeter general
of the establishment.


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