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somewhere. They don’t get any very long runs here. The hounds more often than not put up a second and a third hare, or lose the scent in the fern and manuka.”

“Hares! I thought they hunted foxes!”

The twins laughed at her, and hastily corrected her.

“Foxes don’t grow in New Zealand.”

“There never have been none at all, have there, Mum?”

“Not that I know of,” said Rhoda; and she went on:

“The riders spend a good deal of time popping over the wire fences, and pottering about the hillsides and valleys, but they seem to enjoy themselves.”

“Do you mean that they jump the wire fences?”

“Of course. Every one hunts over wire here. Gates aren’t easy to come upon, and no one minds wire.”

Ann again in a flash of memory saw Rodney Marsh on Nigger sailing over the wire fence, to rescue her from the infuriated stallion. But she wouldn’t allow herself to think of Rodney. Nothing should dim her enjoyment of this happy afternoon.

Rhoda, spying the hunt on the hillside to the right of the main road, turned along a side lane, then through a gate, and over a track running across a wide flat paddock. As they drew nearer it was apparent that the hounds had checked, for the riders were grouped together talking, and there were one or two other cars containing onlookers near at hand. And in one of the cars Ann saw, to her surprise, Dick Holmes with Biddy and Jo. The two little girls rushed across to greet her, and Holmes followed them.

“Lovely, lovely, you coming too,” shrieked Biddy, embracing her warmly.