"Stick to him, Johnny," shout some; "he's off; no he isn't; well saved," as, more by good luck than good management, he regains his seat, and comes back looking rather crestfallen. Some of the farmers think for a moment of their fences and what a lot of "making up" there will be on the morrow; but the joyous faces and boisterous spirits of the schoolboys are infectious, and they feel with old Simms, who said, when last year they broke three of his gates down and let his sheep out all over the country: "We were all boys once, and not a bit better. Bless 'em, they don't mean any harm, and I love 'em."
The first draw is a blank, much to the disappointment of all, Boulter in particular, for he catches it most unmercifully from all his young friends.
A move is then made for a piece of rough stuff called Shepherd's Gorse. Sir John has a difficult task to keep his field in order here, for it is a crooked in-and-out-shaped place, and the ponies will creep forward into forbidden corners. As fast as he orders one back he finds another expectant and overanxious youth somewhere else.
However, they are not kept long in suspense, for a quick find is followed by a ringing "Gone away," and his field gallop round to find Tom and the pack sailing along merrily, he having slipped off with the hounds well on to the line before he vouchsafed to proclaim his departure.
Hard work it is to catch them, for they are racing with a scent breast-high, but the schoolboys sit down and send their ponies along with a will, thinking no more of the big bank and ditch that confront them than they would if it was only a broken sheep-hurdle. Harold Lappington is first down to it, and his young gray pecks badly on the far side, for the animal is a bit fresh and over-jumps himself. Harold's fine seat, however, saves him from a fall, and turning round to where he sees young Charlie Whistler riding his pony, scarce thirteen hands three inches in height, at the biggest place he can find, he shouts: "Steady, Charlie; it's too big for you; take it in two, on and off."
"Go on," replies the monkey, "I'm all----" he would have said "right," but as he was turning head over heels like a rabbit before he could finish his sentence, he found further conversation somewhat difficult. Next in order came two hard-riding members with Sir John and Mrs. Talford, and then a whole crowd of horses and ponies, a good many of which plumbed the depths of the ditch on the landing-side. It is wonderful what a good pony will do with a resolute youngster on his back. Where it can't jump it will creep or climb, and generally manages to pull through somehow or other; but this particular fence is a rasper to commence with, and in most cases the cause of grief is over-excitement.