372 ME. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 



" Hold ! " snapped the woman ; " Sir Harry's i' bed — Captin 

 Seedeybuck's i' bed — Captin Quod's i' bed — Captin Spangle's i' 

 bed — Captin Bouncey's i' bed — Captin Cutitfat's i' bed — they're 

 all i' bed 'cept me, and I've got the house to clean and right, and 

 high time it was cleaned and righted, for they've not been i' bed 

 these three nights any on 'em." So saying, she flourished her 

 duster as if about to set-to again. 



" Well, but tell me," exclaimed Mr. Sponge, " can I see the foot- 

 man, or the huntsman, or the groom, or a helper, or anybody." 



" Deary knows," replied the woman, thoughtfully, resting her 

 chin on her hand. " I dare say they'll be all i' bed too." 



" But they are going to hunt, arn't they ? " asked our friend. 



" Hunt ! " exclaimed the woman ; " what should put that i' your 

 head." 



" Why, they sent me word they were." 



"It'll be i' bed then," observed she, again giving symptoms of 

 a desire to return to her dusting. 



Mr. Sponge, who still kept his hand in his pocket, sat on his 

 horse in a state of stupid bewilderment. He had never seen a case 

 of this sort before — a house shut up, and a master of hounds in 

 bed when the hounds were to meet before the door. It couldn't 

 be the case : the woman must be dreaming, or drunk, or both. 



"Well, but my gocd woman," exclaimed he, as she gave a 

 punishing cut at the chair, as if to make up for lost time ; " well, 

 but my good woman, I wish you would try and find somebody who 

 can tell me something about the hounds. I'm sure they must be 

 going to hunt. I'll remember you for your trouble, if you will," 

 added he, again diving his hand up to the wrist in his pocket. 



" I tell you," replied the woman slowly and deliberately, 

 " there'll be no huntin' to day. Huntin' ! " exclaimed she ; " how 

 can they hunt when they've all had to be carried to bed." 



" Carried to bed ! had they ? " exclaimed Mr. Sponge ; " what, 

 were they drunk ? " 



" Drunk ! aye, to be sure. What would you have them be ? " 

 replied the crone, who seemed to think that drinking was a 

 necessary concomitant of hunting. 



" Well, but I can see the footman or somebody, surely," 

 observed Mr. Sponge, fearing that his chance was out for a billet, 

 and recollecting old Jog's " Bartholo-m-e^s / " and " Murry 

 Anns ! " and intimations for him to start. 



" 'Deed you can't," replied the dame — " ye can see nebody but 

 me," added she, fixing her twinkling eyes intently upon him as she 

 spoke. 



" Well, that's a pretty go," observed Mr. Sponge aloud to him- 

 self, ringing his spurs against his stirrup-irons. 



" Pretty go or ugly go," snapped the woman, thinking it was a 



