MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. 109 



CHAPTER XX. 



THE F. H. H. 



Nor was Sponge wrong in his conjecture, for it was a quarter to 

 nine ere Spigot appeared with the massive silver urn, followed by 

 the trainbaud bold, bearing the heavy implements of breakfast. 

 Then, though the youDg ladies were punctual, smiling, and affable as 

 usual, Mrs. Jawleyford was absent, and she had the keys ; so it was 

 nearly nine before Mr. Sponge got his fork into his first mutton 

 chop. Jawleyford was not exactly pleased ; he thought it didn't look 

 well for a young man to prefer hunting to the society of his lovely 

 and accomplished daughters. Hunting was all very well occasionally, 

 but it did not do to make a business of it. This, however, he kept 

 to himself. 



" You'll have a fine day, my dear Mr. Sponge," said he, extending 

 a hand, as he found our friend brown-booted and red-coated, working 

 away at the breakfast. 



" Yes," said Sponge, munching away for hard life. In less than 

 ten minutes, he managed to get as much down as, with the aid of a 

 knotch of bread that he pocketed, he thought would last him through 

 the day ; and, with a hasty adieu, he hurried off to find the stables, 

 to get his hack. The piebald was saddled, bridled, and turned round 

 in the stall ; for all servants that are worth anything like to further 

 hunting operations. With the aid of the groom's instructions, who 

 accompanied him out of the court-yard, Sponge was enabled to set 

 off at a hard canter, cheered by the groom's observation, that " he 

 thought he would be there in time." On, on he went; now specula- 

 ting on a turn ; now pulling a scratch map he had made on a bit of 

 paper out of his waistcoat-pocket ; now inquiring the name of any 

 place he saw of any person he met. So he proceeded for five or six 

 miles without much difficulty ; the road , though not all turnpike, 

 being mainly over good sound township ones. It was at the village 

 of Swineley, with its chubby-towered church and miserable hut-like 

 cottages, that his troubles were to begin. He had two sharp turns 

 to make — to ride through a straw-yard, and leap over a broken-down 

 wall at the corner of a cottage — to get into Swaithing Green Lane, 

 and so cut off an angle of two miles. The road then became a bridle 

 one, and was, like all bridle ones, very plain to those who know them, 

 and very puzzling to those who don't. It was evidently a little- 

 frequented road ; and what with looking out for foot marks (now 

 nearly obliterated by the recent rains), and speculating on wl at 



