364 MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



" Take time (puff), take time (wheeze)," gasped Jog, waddling 

 along ; " better let 'em settle a little (puff). Better let 'em settle 

 a little (gasp)," added he, labouring on. 



" Oh no, keep them moving," replied Mr. Sponge, — " keep them 

 moving. Only get at 'em on the hill, and drive 'em into the fields 

 below, and we shall have rare fun." 



" But the (puff) fields below are not mine," gasped Jog. 



" Whose are they ? " asked Mr. Sponge. 



" Oh (puff), Mrs. Moses's," gasped Jog. " My stoopid old 

 uncle," continued he, stopping, and laying hold of Mr. Sponge's 

 arm, as if to illustrate his position, but in reality to get breath, — 

 " my stoopid old uncle (puff) missed buying that (wheeze) land 

 when old Harry Griperton died. I only wanted that to make moy 

 (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry extend all the (gasp) way up to Cockwhistle 

 Park there," continued he, climbing on to a stile they now ap- 

 proached, and setting aside the top stone. " That's Cockwhistle 

 Park, up there — just where you see the (puff) windmill — then 

 (puff) moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry comes up to the (wheeze) fallow 

 you see all yellow with runch ; and if my old (puff) uncle (wheeze) 

 Crowdey had had the sense of a (gasp) goose, he'd have (wheezed) 

 that when it was sold. Moy (puff) name was (wheeze) Joggle- 

 bury," added he, " before my (gasp) uncle died." 



" Well, never mind about that," replied Mr. Sponge ; " let us 

 go on after these birds." 



" Oh, we'll (puff) up to them presently," observed Jog, labouring 

 away, with half a ton of clay at each foot, the sun having dispelled 

 the frost where it struck, and made the land carry. 



" Presently ! " retorted Mr. Sponge. " But you should make 

 liaste, man." 



" Well, but let me go my own (puff) pace," snapped Jog, 

 labouring away. 



" Pace ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, " your own crawl, you should 

 say." 



" Indeed ! " growled Jog, with an angry snort. 



They now got through a well-established cattle-gap into a very 

 rushy, squashy, gorse-grown pasture, at the bottom of the rising 

 ground on which Mr. Sponge had marked the birds. Ponto, 

 whose energetic exertions had been gradually relaxing, until he 

 had settled down to a leisurely hunting-dog, suddenly stood trans- 

 fixed, with the right foot up, and his gaze settled on a rushy tuft. 



" P-o-o-n-to ! " ejaculated Jog. expecting every minute to see 

 him dash at it. " P-o-o-n-to ! " repeated he, raising his hand. 



Mr Sponge stood on the tip-toe of expectation ; Jog raised his 

 wide-awake hat from his eyes, and advanced cautiously with the 

 'mgine of destruction cocked. Up started a great hare ; bang t 

 went the gun with the hare none the worse. Bang ! went the 





