MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



363 



before them. " Let's break the covey ; we shall bag- them better 

 singly." 



"Take time (puff)," replied Jog, snorting into his frill, and 

 measuring out his powder most leisurely. " Take time (wheeze)," 

 repeated lie ; " they're just on the bounds of moy ter-ri-to-ry." 



Jog had had many a game at romps with these birds, and knew 

 their haunts and habits to a nicety. The covey consisted of 

 thirteen at first, but by repeated blazings into the " brown of 'em," 

 he had succeeded in knocking down two. Jog was not one of your 

 conceited shots, who never fired but when he was sure of killing ; 



FRANTIC DELIGHT OF PONTO. 



on the contrary, he always let drive far or near ; and even if he 

 shot a hare, which he sometimes did, with the first barrel, he 

 always popped the second into her, to make sure. The chairman's 

 shooting afforded amusement to the neighbourhood. On one 

 occasion a party of reapers, having watched'him miss twelve shots 

 iu succession, gave him three cheers on coming to the thirteenth. 

 — But to our day. Jog had now got his gun reloaded with mis- 

 chief, the cap put on, and all ready for "a fresh start. Ponto, 

 meanwhile, had been ranging, Jog thinking it better to let him 

 take the edge off his ardour' than conform" to the strict rules of 

 lying down or coming to heel. 



" JSTow, let's on," cried Mr. Sponge, stepping out quickly. 



