seconds, the Master of the Hunt approached Miss Carleton with the brush of the fox, which she hung at the pommel of her saddle.
As they all rode home together through the quiet country lanes, little children ran to the doors of the farm-houses and looked admiringly at the cavalcade.
The feathered creatures, just preparing to go to rest in the arms of the great trees, flapped their wings angrily at the dust and disturbance created on the highway, which after six o'clock was deserted save on the days of the hunt.
An apple orchard on the right side of the road lay between the riders and the setting sun.
The light falling in low, slanting rays between the shadows of the wonderful old gnarled trees, gray and twisted, gave a color to the grass which is found nowhere in the world save in the island of Rhode Island,—a color as of a million emeralds
