It was our first day’s cub-hunting, and things had been going against us from the outset. To begin with, we had started rather late,--it is noticeable that the minutes between five and six A.M. are fewer and closer together than they are at any other period of the day,--and, when half way to the meet we found that Betty had given way to her sporting proclivities, and had surreptitiously followed us. When it is explained that Betty is a St. Bernard puppy of cart-horse dimensions, whose expression of smiling imbecility only cloaks a will of iron, it will be understood that there was trouble before us. The trouble began at once. Directly she saw she was discovered she ran away, and the next ti…
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