Dickon cannot quell the uproarious pack: he kicks the door open, and away they scamper round and round the paddock at headlong speed.
What a joy it is to them to stretch their limbs! I forget the squalor of the kennel in watching their happy gambols.

I cannot drink more than one tumbler of brown brandy and water; but Dickon overlooks that weakness, feeling that I admire his greyhounds.

It is arranged that I am to see them work in the autumn.
The months pass, and in his trap with the famous trotter in the shafts we roll up the village street.

Apple-bloom and golden fruit too are gone, and the houses show more now among the bare trees; but as the rim of the ruddy November sun comes forth from the edge of a cloud there appears a buff tint everywhere in the background.

When elm and ash are bare the oaks retain their leaves, and these are illumined by the autumn beams.