MB. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 3CD 



other barrel, "which the hare acknowledged by two or three 

 stotting bounds and an increase of pace. 



" Well missed ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge. 



Away went Ponto in pursuit. 



" P-o-o-n-fo ! " shrieked Jog, stamping with rege. 



" I could have wiped your nose," exclaimed Mr. Sponge, cover- 

 ing the hare with a hedge-stake placed to his shoulder like a gun. 



" Could you ? " growled Jog ; " 'spose you wipe your own," 

 added he, not understanding the meaning of the term. 



Meanwhile, old Ponto went rolling away most energetically, the 

 farther he went the farther he was left behind, till the hare 

 having scuttled out of sight, he wheeled about and came leisurely 

 back, as if he was doing all right. 



Jog was very wrath, and vented his anger on the dog, which, 

 he declared, had caused him to miss, vowing, as he rammed away 

 at the charge, that he never missed such a shot before. Mr. 

 Sponge stood eyeing him with a look of incredulity, thinking that 

 a man who could miss such a shot could miss anything. They 

 were now all ready for a fresh start, and Ponto, having pocketed 

 his objurgation, dashed forward again up the rising ground over 

 which the covey had dropped. 



Jog's thick wind was a serious impediment to the expeditious 

 mounting of the hill, and the dog seemed aware of his infirmity, 

 and to take pleasure in aggravating him. 



" P-o-o-n-lo ! " gasped Jog, as he slipped, and scrambled, and 

 toiled, sorely impeded by the incumbrance of his gun. 



But P-o-o-n-to heeded him not. He knew his master couldn't 

 catch him, and if he did, that he durstn't flog him. 



" P-o-o-n-lo ! " gasped Jog again, still louder, catching at a bush 

 to prevent his slipping back. " T-o-o-h-o-o ! P-o-o-n-lo ! " wheezed 

 he ; but the dog just rolled his great stern, and bustled about 

 more actively than ever. 



" Hang ye ! but I'd cut you in two if I had you ! " exclaimed 

 Mr. Sponge, eyeing his independent proceedings. 



"He's not a bad (puff) dog," observed Jog, mopping the 

 perspiration from his brow. 



" He's not a good 'un," retorted Mr. Sponge. 



" D'ye think not (wheeze) ? " asked Jog. 



"Sure of it," replied Sponge. 



" Serves me," growled Jog, labouring up the hill. 



" Easy served," replied Mr. Sponge, whistling, and eyeing the 

 independent animal. 



" T-o-o-h-o-o ! P-o-o-n-lo / " gasped Jog, as he dashed forward 

 on reaching level ground more eagerly than ever. 



"P-o-o-n-to/ T-o-o-h-o-o!" repeated he, in a still louder tone, 

 with the same success. 



