THE LIFE OF A FOX, 47

Hill in Sussex. The pace had blown the hounds,
and the great change, by turning back, and down
the wind, caused them to stop for a minute or
two; and although I soon heard them again
hunting me, at a pace not quite so fast, their
perseverance induced me to keep on straight
forward. I had already gone for about ten or
twelve miles, when, crossing a grass field near
some buildings, I was startled at hearing the
noise of other hounds close by. It was the
pack in Colonel Wyndham’s kennel. A view-
halloo, which came from one of his men, made
me continue to get on as fast as I could, and by
the time it was nearly dark, I fortunately reached
the large earth at Grafham Hill. I had not been
there for more than a few minutes, when, lying
with my head near the entrance of the earth, in
order to breathe more freely, I heard the hounds
come up to the spot, and try to get in, on which
I retreated, but no farther than I was obliged to
do, according to the plan I always adopted when
distressed or nearly run down.

The distance I had run, straight ahead from