It was late in August, and the weather so sultry, that we scarcely knew how to bear with the intense heat. Some did nothing but lap the water, always running in a clear fine stream, from the fountain in the court, and assuaged their thirst by continual sipping. Others drank deeply, but seldom; and all, more or less, evinced the feverish suffering they endured.

I was lying in a shady corner of the court one day about noontide, when I happened to notice a hound of the name of Gameboy go two or three times towards the fountain, and then turn from it with a slight shudder.

Rising from the ground, I went towards him and said, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” replied he, “but I feel very strange. I’m dreadfully thirsty, and yet cannot go near the water.”

I now perceived that his eyes looked dull and leaden, and his body shook, as if every nerve and sinew were shattered and unstrung.

“Perhaps you have eaten something that has disagreed with you,” returned I.

“No,” added he; “I picked up a bone in our walk this morning, but that couldn’t injure me.”

“What’s that wound on your shoulder,” I asked.

“A mere scratch,” said he, “I got from a cur three days ago. He flew at me while passing a cottage garden, and just touched me on the skin.”

This intelligence struck me with the most inexpressible uneasiness, and I went to Trimbush, who was asleep, and waking him, repeated all I had seen and heard.

In a moment the old hound jumped from his posture of indolence, and approaching Gameboy, regarded him minutely.

“Are you unwell?” said he.

“Yes,” replied Gameboy; “I never felt so queer before.”

“Are you thirsty?”

“Awfully so,” he rejoined, “and yet cannot drink.”

“But why?” asked Trimbush.

Gameboy gave an involuntary shudder, and said, “The sight, and even the noise of water, is more painful than I can describe.”

“Let me see you make an effort to go near it,” responded my companion. “Perseverance may overcome this, seemingly, nervous affection.”

In accordance with the desire, poor Gameboy turned his head towards the fountain, and endeavoured to approach it; but had scarcely taken a stride in the direction, when a spasm appeared to seize him, and with a howl he rushed cowering to the farthest corner of the court.

The attention of the rest of the hounds was attracted by this, and several were trotting towards him to learn the cause, when Trimbush interposed by saying, “Stay—he’s mad.”

As if each had received a shock of electricity, the whole stood still and mute, regarding in silent horror their miserable companion. It is impossible to convey the effect produced upon the communication made thus briefly by Trimbush. Every one seemed not to know what to do or say, until Gameboy, with a white thick foam dropping from his jaw, sprung upon his feet and rushed towards them. A wild bull would not have scattered us more completely. Frenzied with fear, we flew from the maddened wretch, who rushed staggering at everything in his way, and snapping his jaws with that fury which the mad can only show.

“Get from him,” said Trimbush, in a thick husky voice, and exhibiting the greatest terror. “Pray get from him. It’s death if he touches ye.”

The noise in the kennel now became furious. All were stricken with fright, and the howling and cries were most appalling.

It could scarcely have continued more than a minute, however, when the stentorian voices of Will Sykes and Ned Adams were heard, calling for “quiet,” accompanied by the cracks of a heavy thong.

“Thanks be to the saints!” exclaimed Trimbush, “assistance is at hand.”

Immediately afterwards both entered the court, and the huntsman glancing round, said reproachfully, “What’s all this about, eh?”

At this juncture, Mark the feeder made his appearance, and his eye instantly fell upon Gameboy. I never shall forget the old man’s countenance, the moment he saw the hound. A ghastly paleness came over it, and he looked almost stunned with the sight.

“Great heaven!” ejaculated he, holding up both his hands. “Great heaven, Will, there’s madness among ’em!”

“What!” said the huntsman, his question sounding like a sharp expression of pain.

“Madness,” repeated Mark, “as sure as we live.”

With staring eyes, the huntsman and second whip examined Gameboy at a short distance and, after a slight pause, the former exclaimed, “’Tis true! Run, Ned, and bring the Squire.”

“Get in, get in,” hallooed Mark, and closing the lodging-room door, we were safe from the attacks of the wretched Gameboy, who was now left alone in the court.

“Take care,” said Will, retreating towards the door, “he’s in a most rabid state.”

“I wonder where it will end,” returned Mark, joining the huntsman’s side by the door.

“Who can tell?” rejoined Will, bitterly. “We may lose half of ’em, perhaps.”

“I noticed that he looked rather heavy about the eyes, for a day or two,” added the feeder, “but I accounted for it through the heat.”

“It was only yesterday,” said Will, “that I gave him a dose of black brimstone and lard, seeing that he was feverish.”

“It was a mercy no accident occurred to ye,” responded Mark. “A mere scratch from a tooth would have——”

“What’s this?” interrupted a well-known voice, and there stood our master, breathless and exhausted with the speed he had used in attending the summons to the fearful scene.

“Gameboy, sir,” replied Will, pointing to the convulsive and agonized hound, “is mad beyond a doubt.”

“Are there any more with such symptoms?” hurriedly asked the squire, scrutinizing the object of their painful attention and interest.

“We have not had time for a careful examination, sir,” returned the huntsman; “but I saw none as we hastily separated them.”

“You have acted well,” said the Squire, “and we must continue the same prompt and sound judgment. Shoot that hound instantly.”

No sooner was the order given than Mark produced a long, single-barrelled flint gun, with which he was in the habit of slaughtering rats about the precincts of the kennel, and handed it to Will.

“Do it for me,” whispered he, with a quivering lip. “I feel quite sick.”

Our feeder hesitated for a second or two; but after a short struggle with a corresponding reluctance to become the executioner, he brought the piece to his shoulder, and drove the charge crashing through Gameboy’s brain. Without a perceptible throe of anguish, poor Gameboy fell lifeless upon the flags, and so ended, to us, this terrible tragedy.

“Before endeavouring to learn the cause of the disease in him,” said the Squire, “draft each hound singly, and let us see whether any have been bitten by him, or if the least cause of fear exists that more must be destroyed.”

“I hope not, sir,” returned Will, with a strangely inarticulate voice. “What shall we do if——”

“It’s useless to talk of what we shall do,” interrupted his master irritably, “until we learn what we can do. Draft the hounds.”

One by one was called from the lodging-room by name, and after minutely examining the eyes, nose and mouth, every hackle was rubbed back to see if the slightest recent abrasion of the skin had been made. At length it came to my turn, and unfortunately a scratch made by myself, while brushing a flea from my neck in the morning, was found just under my left ear.

“Reload your gun,” said the Squire.

A trembling seized me at these words, so that I could scarcely stand, and a film spread itself across my eyes, which nearly blinded me.

“Oh, sir,” exclaimed Will Sykes, “don’t have him shot yet. It does not look to me like a bite.”

“But it does to me,” replied his master. “What think you, Mark?”

The old man divided the hackles with his thumb and finger, and after a careful examination pronounced an opinion coinciding with that of the huntsman.

“I know that the hound is a great favourite with both of ye,” said the Squire, “and with good reasons. But remember, if from any false feeling of kindness we spare one infected, the entire pack may be lost.”

“I wouldn’t do it, sir,” returned Mark. “I wouldn’t do it, sir,” repeated he, “if he was my own child, and I thought him bitten. The intended kindness would be right down cruelty.”

“Still,” added our master, shaking his head, “I entertain great doubt as to the policy of hesitating to take the safer course. However, let him be shut up by himself and watched incessantly; and in the event of the most trifling but certain symptom appearing, wait for no instructions from me, but shoot him.”

I was now taken from the court and subjected to solitary confinement for six weeks; but as Tom Holt explained the cause of poor Gameboy’s malady, from having seen him attacked by the cur, and all the rest being found free from the smallest likelihood of inoculation, I was permitted to join my companions again soon after cub-hunting commenced. During my involuntary retreat, Mark paid me the greatest attention, and, that I might not be low-spirited for want of company, would often sit upon my bench and chat to me, and croon snatches of old ballads to himself. He took me long walks, too, when his work was done, and altogether the time was spent much more agreeably than might be imagined in the gloom of solitude.

Hearty was the welcome upon my re-appearance in the court, and each of my friends expressed his warm delight at seeing me again; although a stranger to our ways and customs might deem the reception somewhat churlish, and of the growling mood. However, we do not ‘use our tongues for the concealment of our thoughts,’ and if devoid of the polish of refined manners, we at least possess an equal proportion of their honesty.