stretched jumps over the countless dykes. Twice the old fox led them to the hills and down again, and then once
more in and out, doubling the dyke-cut fields.
When dusk fell the Prince was far out of sight from his followers, and the old fox still led the pace, but it was
across the Kent Ditch and away into Sussex that he showed first signs of exhaustion. The Prince’s excitement was
then redoubled, for he saw the kill in sight, and the honour of being alone. He had shown these Kent squires what
riding was. His voice was hoarse with halloing when he heard that at first he thought was his own echo. Whenever
he cried out to the hounds, a derisive answer came from the mist behind him. And then he heard above the tongue
of the pack, and thundering of hooves that did not belong to Colindale, and he realized that another huntsman was
pressing up behind him.
Determined not to be cheated at the last moment of the honour for which he had striven so hard, His Royal
Highness pricked Colindale forward desperately. As a huntsman he resented being robbed of his line kill, and as
Heir Apparent he was exceedingly displeased at the derisive laughter coming nearer and nearer from his pursuer.
In full cry the pack was hidden in the mist ahead, and the Prince kept glancing back for a sight of his rival.
Catching a glimpse of a magnificent wild head of a coal-black horse, he shouted haughtily to the rider to rein back.
With another scornful laugh the rider’s answer was to press alongside Colindale, and the Prince saw the rider’s face,
which gave him such a shock that he all but lost his seat. It was a demon horseman with a hideous face that shone
like phosphorus in the mist, and his clothes were wild black rags that streamed behind him as he rode. Keeping pace
easily beside him, the figure croaked out: “The fox ahead has been named the Devil Fox of Romney Marsh, and no
one shall take his brush but I the scarecrow. You may tell the Lord of Lympne that you have had the honour of
riding neck to neck with the best horseman of the county. Farewell.”
The aspiration streaked forwards, and as Colindale screamed with terror, disappeared in the mist ahead.
After the scream the Prince found that the spirit had gone out of Colindale, and he had the greatest difficulty in
urging the poor beast forward. Ahead in the mist could be heard the cries of the kill, and the Prince guesses rightly
that it was taking place on the summit of a grassy knoll confronting him. Dismounting he led the unwilling
Colindale up the slope, and in doing so climbed out of the lowlying mist.
It was a strange sight for the Heir Apparent. Above the pack who were fighting for their share of the hard -won
spoil stood the terrible figure of the Scarecrow, with a blooded hunting-knife in one hand and a whip and the brush
in the other. Behind him stood his great black horse, Gehenna.
On seeing the Prince, the Scarecrow bowed, and said in a deep, croaking voice: “I am desolated to rob Your
Royal highness of the honour he so richly deserved, but I am forced to take the brush in order to settle scores with
Sir Henry Pembury. If you ride some five hundred yards to9 your right, you will come out upon the main road
leading you direct to the Lympne hills and the castle, where no doubt the Reverend Doctor Syn is awaiting your
arrival to say the dinner grace. Since he has met the scarecrow in the past, and to his cost, you will have an
opportunity of comparing notes upon the Leader of the Marsh. I bid you farewell again, and a most Royal appetite.”
With a leap which the heavy Prince envied, the figure mounted and waving the brush above his head, dashed
down the knoll into the mist.
On reaching the main road indicated by the Scarecrow, the Prince encountered a search-party headed by Sir
Antony Cobtree, who escorted him to the castle, where most of the disgruntled huntsmen had been congregated for
hours. While the Prince dres sed for dinner, doctor Syn jogged unobtrusively into the courtyard upon his white pony,
explaining to the grooms that he had been unsuccessfully seeking for the missing Prince.
During dinner the Prince was full of his adventure, and he found that his encounter with the Scarecrow gave him
more credit with the ladies than had be brought back the brush. The gentlemen, however, secretly discredited the
story, whispering that the Prince had no doubt spent the evening in some inn, ogling the barmaids. Doctor Syn
seemed the only one who was convinced by the account, till something happened which showed the whole company
that the Prince was not boasting.
The old butler whispered to Sir Henry that one of the footmen opening the castle doors to a ring, had found a
wooden box marked ‘urgent’ and addressed to His Royal Highness. At the Prince’s command it was brought in. A
narrow oblong box, well made and hinged. No one knew that it had been fashioned for the purpose in Mipps’
Coffin Shop. Throwing back the lid his Royal Highness lifted out a fox’s brush with the following message attached
to it:
The Scarecrow presents his compliments to the Prince of Wales, and returns the accompanying brush which he
unfairly robbed from him at the last moment of a splendid run. If any man deserved this brush it is Your Royal
Highness.
“By heavens!” cried the Prince, “but the rascal’s a sportsman after all, and should he ever be taken I shall ask my
royal father to pardon him.. What do you say, Doctor Syn?”
“That the Scarecrow would appreciate your sentiment, sir,” replied the Vicar, “though I think it is a wasted one,
for in spite of the vigorous drive against him by the authorities, I fancy the rascal will never be laid by the heels.”
“Then I give him a toast,” cried the Prince. “Ladies and gentlemen, you will drink with me to the scarecrow.”
After dinner His Royal Highness remarked slyly to Doctor Syn that he feared he had shocked not only his host
but many of the gentry by his toast, adding, “I hope my good Doctor, that you who have so vigorously opposed this
rascal from the pulpit will not condemn me for being too unorthodox?”
“Your Royal Highness places me in a difficult position.” Replied Doctor Syn, with a smile. “I had every excuse
to drink the toast, since it was a Royal command, just as it is my bounden duty to condemn him from the pulpit,
while I hold Orders under your Royal Father as Defender of the Faith. But I will confess that I drank the toast
willingly enough because I admire the rascally Scarecrow prodigiously.”
“And so do I, Parson,” laughed the Prince. “I can take a beating with the best, and the fellow outrode me at the
kill.”
“Your Royal Highness is perhaps too modest,” said the Doctor. “No doubt he outrode you because he and his
horse were fresh.”
“And what a horse,” exclaimed the Prince. “I should like to know where the devil he got it from.”
“Men say that he got it from the Devil at the price of his soul,” explained the Doctor. “there are many who can
vouch that he calls it Gehenna, which certainly suggests hell’s stables.”
“I’d give him a thousand guineas for it tomorrow,” laughed the Prince. “It beats anything in my stables, and in
the King’s too. If you sermons are half as good as those humorous stories that you told us over the port, I’ll make
you my spiritual adviser when I become Defender of the Faith.”
“As I believe your Royal Highness has expressed his willingness to attend Divine Service at the Castle Church on
Sunday,” remarked the Doctor, “Your Royal Highness will be able to judge, since I have been ordered to preach.”