40 THE LIFE OF A FOX.

were bred, much to the regret of the owner, a
Rev. Baronet, who is one of our greatest friends,
as no keeper of his would dare to destroy a fox
without pain of losing his place. Here I remained
quiet for some months, till one morning I was
waked by the noise of Foster the huntsman; and
shortly afterwards the whimpering of a hound told
me that he was on the scent left by my footsteps
on my way to my kennel, although it was where
I had passed before day, and several hours had
gone by. I was led by the wind that day to
take them over a country seldom if ever gone over
by them before, namely Wolmer Forest, crossing
one or two rivers, from extreme dread of this
huntsman and his powerful pack. Whether it
was the water or the fences that stopped him, I
cannot say, but I suspect it was the latter;
although a few years before nothing could have
done it. The hounds were at times running
without him, and it was in consequence of that
I think that I eventually beat him, and escaped.
In the course of a few days I returned to the

same covert, and had not been there more than