"What is this, anyway--a Walpurgis hunt?--or Eliza
and the bloodhounds?"
Several children, disentangling themselves from the heap, rose to
confront the visitor; the shocked man, Dawson, attempted to speak again,
but Selwyn's raised hand quieted him.
The small boy with the blond hair stepped forward and dragged several
dogs from the vicinity of Selwyn's shins.
"This is the Shallowbrook hunt," he explained; "I am Master of Hounds;
my sister Drina, there, is one of the whips. Part of the game is to all
fall down together and pretend we've come croppers. You see, don't you?"
"I see," nodded Selwyn; "it's a pretty stiff hunting country, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. There's wire, you know," volunteered the girl, Drina,
rubbing the bruises on her plump shins.
"Exactly," agreed Selwyn; "bad thing, wire. Your whips should warn you."
The big black cat, horribly bored by the proceedings, had settled down
on a hall seat, keeping one disdainful yellow eye on the dogs.
"All the same, we had a pretty good run," said Drina, taking the cat
into her arms and seating herself on the cushions; "didn't we, Kit-Ki?"
And, turning to Selwyn, "Kit-Ki makes a pretty good fox--only she isn't
enough afraid of us to run away very fast.
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