II

To look ahead in the hey-day of youth is to look forward to unclouded

happiness. And, no doubt, to Murphy and those of his own age, the fact

that the summer waned and that autumn followed, when leaves fell

mysteriously from the trees and there were sporting scents in the air,

made little difference to their outlook. Happiness had no relation to the

seasons: they were all good in their turn. Jolly times ranged from spring

to winter. And, perhaps, winter after all was best.

It was on a winter day, in fact, that Murphy first made a mark in the

mind of his Over-Lord, and it came about like this.

The day before had been typical of late January. The sun had not shone

since daybreak. The sky to the north was lead colour, and the wind was

blowing through snow. If it froze on the north side of the hedgerows, it

thawed on the south--the coldest condition of all.

There were covered places for the dogs of the mill, with plenty of straw,

and when one or two who had been out for a walk came in and said there

would be snow before another morning dawned, those who heard the remark

curled themselves tighter or drew closer to their more intimate friends.

And as they slept and woke, and slept again, they saw the lights go out

one by one, save those in the mill itself, for barges had come with loads

of grain, and the mill was working all night. They could hear the steady

"throb," "throb" of the great mill-wheel and the plash of the distant

waters; but just before the new dawn these sounds gave way to a hum that

played a muffled music in the trees. The men's footsteps never sounded at

all, till they were close at hand; and then the mill slowly stopped as

though tired, and silence reigned supreme in the cold. Dogs and men slept

firmly for a little: Nature was at work putting a new face upon the

world.

And after all that there followed the joyousness of a cloudless morning,

as the stars faded out, and the pale sun lit up a world that was now pure

white. Snow lay everywhere to the depth of three inches--not more--for it

had spread itself evenly in the stillness, and covered the ground, and

the roofs, and the barges that had come with the grain, making everything

look strange, even to the waters that were licking the banks, and that

somehow or other had turned the colour of green bottle-glass.

Then, by-and-by, came the Over-Lord, and called this name and that; and

the last that he called was "Murphy."

Here were games indeed! Here was something new to play with; to be

skipped and rolled and gambolled in to heart's content; to be even bitten

at, and swallowed till forbidden. Why, this new material that the younger

ones had never seen before called even the limpest to forget his

limpness, as though new blood flowed in his veins and he were endowed

with a new life!

They were soon out of the yard, and away down the lane. And then the

Over-Lord turned into the fields and struck a right-of-way that led in

direction of a hamlet two miles distant. Here many of the meadows were

thirty acres and over in extent, flat as any floor, with great elm trees

in their hedgerows. They were untenanted now by sheep or cattle, for

these had been driven off the night before to higher ground, by men who

kept an eye upon the weather. The virgin surface of the snow lay

glittering gold and silver in the early morning sun, with here and there,

as a contrast, the long shadows of the limbs of a great oak or elm, cast

as though some one had traced its pattern for fun with a brushful of the

purest cobalt.

There were only five dogs out that morning. Three were now fastened to a

leash; one other was very old, and he and Murphy were allowed what

latitude they liked. So presently it chanced that Murphy found himself

some way from the rest, and suddenly called upon to show what he could

do. As he went, he came upon a slight rise in the snow, as though

something lay beneath. The more experienced would have known what that

was, for their noses would have told them in a trice. When snow falls and

a hare finds itself being gradually covered by the flakes, it does what

it can to bury itself deeper; but always with this eye on life--that it

assiduously keeps a hole open that it may breathe, and always to the

leeward. Such is one of many evidences of clever instinct to be met with

for ever in the fields.

Thus, before this young dog knew well what had happened, there sprang, as

if by magic, from the snow a beauteous animal, strong of scent and fleet

of foot, and heading straight away from him at top speed.

He heard a voice calling many names, and at the same time the crack of a

whip. But his name was not among the rest; and he just had time to notice

that the Over-Lord stood still, with the other dogs about him. Then he

was off in pursuit, straight as a line for the river. There the hare made

its first turn, Murphy being twenty yards in rear. He was running mute

now, and both hare and dog were settling to their work--the one to escape

if it could, the other to catch, if so it might be. They were through the

far fence a moment later, and disappeared, only, however, quickly to

return and take a line straight down this thirty-acre piece. It was a

stretch of nearly a quarter of a mile, and ere they reached the further

fence Murphy was gaining ground. The hare doubled at the boundary, and

then doubled again, making the figure of a giant eight on the glittering

golden surface of the snow.

Was the dog really gaining? It was a fine course. The hare was evidently

a late leveret of the previous season; the dog was scarcely more than

seven months old. How would it end? The Over-Lord stood and watched,

determined that none should interfere. There should be fair play in a

fair field, if he could only keep a grip upon these others that were

whimpering and shivering and straining at the leash. He had passed the

thong of his whip through the collar of the old dog, so all were really

well within control.

Would the young dog last? That was the crucial question. The hare had had

many a run before this to save her skin, and was hardened by the life of

the breezy downs and the wide fields. But the dog had never previously

been tried in such a way: his life had been more or less an artificial

one, and he had never been called upon to lay himself out, or been put to

such a strain as these almost maddening moments entailed. Catch this

thing somehow he must. Were not his comrades looking on? Did not the very

silence of the Over-Lord seem to demand of him his very best? There

appeared, however, to be no getting level with this animal of surprising

fleetness of foot, that seemed to glide over the ground with perfect

ease, and that responded gamely to every effort that he made.

The group of lookers-on watched the more intently. Now the hare by a

clever turn increased her lead; then once again the dog made good the

ground lost. The hare had come back by this time almost to the

starting-point. Closer and closer drew the dog: the hare seemed to be

swaying in her stride. The dog's tongue was out at any length, and his

pant was clearly audible. Once again the hare doubled, and the dogs with

the Over-Lord gave tongue, as though they cheered their comrade. Then

with a fling and a dash Murphy was into it: there was a scuffle in the

snow, and the next instant the young dog was seen to be holding the hare

down.

Making his way to the two, taking the dogs upon leash and thong short by

the head, and keeping them back by the free use of his feet, the

Over-Lord seized the hare and rescued it; Murphy being too beat now to do

more than lie stretched out, panting.

"Well, I'm...!"--The Over-Lord was passing a hand as well as he could

over the frightened hare, holding it high to his chest.--"Run to a

standstill, and not so much as harmed. Well, I'm...!"

He had let go the other dogs now. They were barking and jumping round

him, and to avoid risk he was covering up the hare beneath his coat. His

face was a study as he looked at Murphy lying in the snow. No fault was

to be found with the dog; that was very certain. He had been given an

opportunity of showing what he could do. The snow had equalised the race.

And this was the end--the hare not hurt at all. He would look again at

her presently. It had been a pretty sight: Nature's working; no real

cruelty in any of it. Such were the thoughts that were passing in the

tall man's mind.

All turned homeward after that, the Over-Lord's feet scrunching the snow

as he took great strides, a smile lighting up his face. Four of his dogs

were close to his heels, as though they expected something; a yard or two

behind followed a younger one, with his tongue out level with his chest.

* * * * *

Later on in the day, when all the dogs were kennelled up, the Over-Lord

might have been seen leaving the mill-yard, with something he carried in

a bag, taking long draws at his pipe, and still with a smile upon his

face. He was making his way alone to the open fields, and across these to

where there was shelter under a hedge. Having reached his point, he

stooped to the ground; and then there sped from him, as he rose, a hare,

unharmed in wind and limb.

He looked long after it, to make sure. Then he rubbed his chin with his

pipe in his hand, and remarked aloud, "Run to a standstill, and never

harmed. Well, I'm...!" And once again that day he checked himself from

using a bad, if sometimes almost pardonable, word.