THE LIFE OF A FOX. 89

gorse near the Down House, when I was waked
by hearing what I thought was the whistle of
the keeper, but which turned out to be that
of Lord Portman’s huntsman, whose hounds
were all round me before I was aware. The
men on horseback were scattered in all direc-
tions over the down, and it would have
served them right if they had lost their day’s
sport, which they very nearly did, as I stole
away to a large rabbit earth close by, into which
I ran.

Unluckily some of the hounds got on my:
scent, and hunted it up to the earth, where
they marked it by stopping and baying. Shortly
after this two or three of the hunters rode up,
and I heard the following words: “Not worth
saving: get him out and give him to the hounds;
he can’t run a yard.” However, it was decided
that I should have a chance, as they called it;
and a pretty chance it was. I was dug out,
_ put into a sack, and given to the whipper-in,
with orders to turn me out on the down. Some-

thing was said about cutting my ham-strings,