But Lady is a deer-hound.

She is used to pursuing that fleet and antlered pride of the forest--the stag--and she can go like billyo.

She was now far away in a distant region of the paddock, with a fat sheep just before her in full flight.
I am sure if ever anybody's eyes did start out of their heads with horror, like in narratives of adventure, ours did then.
There was a moment's pause of speechless horror.

We expected to see Lady pull down her quarry, and we know what a lot of money a sheep costs, to say nothing of its own personal feelings.
Then we started to run for all we were worth.

It is hard to run swiftly as the arrow from the bow when you happen to be wearing pyjamas belonging to a grown-up person--as I was--but even so I beat Dicky.