Along the opposite margin of the brook
there ran a low paling, which made the water a rather nasty thing to face.
A circuit of thirty or forty yards gave the easy riding of a little
bridge, and to that all the crowd hurried. But one or two men with good
eyes, and hearts as good, had seen the leading hounds across the brook
turning up the hill away from the bridge, and knew that two most necessary
minutes might be lost in the crowd. Frank did as they did, having seen
nothing of any hounds, but with instinctive knowledge that they were men
likely to be right in a hunting-field. "If that ain't Nappie's horse, I'll
eat him," said one of the leading men to the other, as all the three were
breasting the hill together. Frank only knew that he had been carried over
water and timber without a mistake, and felt a glow of gratitude toward
Mr. MacFarlane. Up the hill they went, and, not waiting to inquire into
the circumstances of a little gate, jumped a four-foot wall and were away.
"How the mischief did he get atop of Nappie's horse?" said the horsey man
to his friend.
"We're about right for it now," said the huntsman, as he came up alongside
of Frank.
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