‘Ah, they’ve got to hunt him again, the cunning old fellow!’ exclaimed the young man, as he and Mrs Bradley caught a glimpse of a pink coat in among the trees. ‘This way, mam. There’s an easy way in for them as knows. You’ll be up on the old rascal as soon as any of ’em. Come you along o’ me. Your ’orse won’t take no notice of my bike.’

There was no doubt hounds were at fault. Mrs Bradley’s escort dismounted, leaned his bicycle against a piece of chestnut fencing, swung away on foot to the right and introduced her into the wood by way of a bridle path guarded by a gate.

‘He’s dished us, I think,’ said Jonathan, as his aunt and her escort came up. ‘Headed back for his own country, I shouldn’t wonder, or else gone to ground in here. Never mind. It’s a lovely day. Shall we be ambling home, or will you wait to see whether we pick him up again?’

‘I’ve had enough, if you have,’ said his aunt, re-settling her hat, which a branch had knocked slightly askew. ‘What’s the matter with that couple of hounds?’

Apparently the Master had the same desire for information. The couple had their muzzles inside a badger’s sett and were baying as though they were demented.

The Huntsman called them off, and, the pack suddenly finding again, the hunt streamed off through the woods.

‘On a different scent, I’ll lay,’ said Jonathan, ducking his head to avoid a whip-like branch. He glanced round to find that his aunt had dismounted and, with her cyclist guide, was poking with a dead branch at the badger’s sett.

‘Blood,’ she said, holding out the branch as her nephew came up.

‘Rabbit,’ said Jonathan. ‘A stoat has killed one and dragged it in there, I expect. Come along, or we shall miss the fun.’

‘I thought you had made up your mind to go home,’ retorted Mrs Bradley. ‘But just as you like. Ah, there we go again!’

They bent low on their horses’ necks to avoid the whip-like twigs and were soon again on a broad ride through the woods. Mrs Bradley’s crop dangled from her wrist, and in her hand she held the blood-stained branch which she had poked into the badgers’ den. Jonathan, accustomed to apparent idiosyncrasies which would afterwards, he knew, prove to be useful behaviour, made no comment. His horse began to canter, and soon he and his aunt were scudding up-wind behind a pack in full cry, a yodelling Huntsman and an enthusiastic field.

The woods ended with a wooden gate easily negotiable. The take-off, a little spongy, was good enough, and Jonathan loosed his mare at it and was up and over. Mrs Bradley gathered her tall hunter, and up he flew, made a perfect landing, and galloped steadily onwards, on a slightly downhill track.