186 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



" By Jove ! it's a pity but his lordship had seen him," thought 

 Sponge, as the emulation of companionship made the horse 

 gradually increase his pace, and steal forward with the lightest 

 freest action imaginable. " If he was but all right," continued 

 Sponge, with a shake of the head, " he would be worth any money, 

 for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetry and 

 action of a racer." 



Then Sponge thought he shouldn't have an opportunity of 

 showing the horse till Thursday, for Jack had satisfied him that 

 the next day's meet was quite beyond distance from Jawlcyford 

 Court. 



"It's a bore," said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the 

 piebald with his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race. 

 He thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a 

 slip of turf they were now approaching ; but a sudden thought 

 struck him, and he desisted. " These horses have done nothing 

 to-day," he said ; " why shouldn't I send the chestnut on for 

 to-morrow ? " 



" Do you know where the cross-roads are?" he asked his groom. 



" Cross-roads, cross-roads — what cross-roads ? " replied Leather. 



" Where the hounds meet to-morrow." 



"Oh, the cross-roads at Somethin' Burn," rejoined Leather, 

 thoughtfully,— " no, 'deed, I don't," he addded. "From all 

 'counts, they seem to be somewhere on the far side of the world." 



That was not a very encouraging answer ; and feeling it would 

 require a good deal of persuasion to induce Mr. Leather to go in 

 search of "it hern without clothing and the necessary requirements 

 for his horses, Mr. Sponge went trotting on, in hopes of seeing some 

 place where he might get a sight of the map of the county. So they 

 proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn of the road brought them 

 to the spire and housetops of the little agricultural town of 

 Barleyboll. It differed nothing from the ordinary run of small 

 towns. It had a pond at one end, an inn in the middle, a church 

 at one side, a fashionable milliner from London, a merchant tailor 

 from the same place, and a hardware shop or two where they also 

 sold treacle, Dartford gunpowder, pocket-handkerchiefs, sheep-nets, 

 patent medicines, cheese, blacking, marbles, mole-traps, men's 

 hats, and other miscellaneous articles. It was quite enough of a 

 town, however, to raise a presumption that there would be a map 

 of the county at the inn. 



" We'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, I think," said 

 Sponge, turning into the stable-yard at the end of the Bed Lion 

 Hotel and Posting House ; adding, " I want to write a letter, and 

 perhaps," said he, looking at his watch, " you may be wanting 

 your dinner." 



Having resigned his horse to his servant, Mr. Sponge walked 



