Two of them are men long past middle age, whose once tawny beards are grizzled, but who are still game, perhaps more so than the rising generation.

The rest have followed them here, aware that these old hands know every inch of the country, and are certain to be in the right place.
The spot is not far from the park wall, where the wood runs up into a wedge-shaped point, and ends in a low mound and hedge.

Most of the company at the meet in the park have naturally cantered across the level sward, scattering the sheep as they go, and are now assembled along the side of the wood, near where a green 'drive' goes through it, and apparently gives direct access to the fields beyond.

From thence they can see the huntsman in the wood occasionally, and trace the exact course the hounds are taking in their search.
A gallant show it is by the wood! Horsemen and horsewomen, late comers hastening up, restless horses, a throng for ever in motion, and every now and then the blast of a horn rising up from the trees beneath.

A gallant show indeed, but two old cunning ones and their followers have slipped away down to this obscure corner where they can see nothing of it, and are themselves hidden.