162 



one, which, however, Spigot put into a different decanter, and brought 

 in with such an air as precluded either of them saying a word in dis- 

 paragement of it. 



" Where are the hounds next week ? " asked Sponge, sipping away 

 at it. 



" Monday, Larkhall Hill ; Tuesday, the cross-roads by Dallington 

 Burn : Thursday, the Toll-bar at Whitburrow Green ; Saturday, the 

 kennels," replied Jack. 



" Good places ? " asked Sponge. 



"Monday's good," replied Jack; "draw Thorney Gorse — sure 

 find ; second draw, Barnlow Woods, and home by Loxley, Padmore, 

 and so on." 



" What sort of a place is Tuesday ? " 



" Tuesday ! " repeated Jack. " Tuesday ! Oh, that's the cross 

 roads. Capital place, unless the fox takes to Rumborrow Cra.igs, or 

 gets into Seedeywood Forest, when there's an end of it — at least an 

 end of everything except pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey 

 rides. It's a long way from here, though," observed Jack. 



" How far ? " asked Sponge. 



" Good twenty miles," replied Jack. " It's sixteen from us ; it'll 

 be a good deal more from here." 



" His lordship will lay out overnight, then ? " observed Sponge. 



" Not he," replied Jack. " Takes better care of his sixpences 

 than that. Up in the dark, breakfast by candle-light, grope our ways 

 to the stable, and blunder along the deep lanes, and through all the 

 bye-roads in the country — get there somehow or another." 



" Keen hand ! " observed Sponge. 



" Mad ! " replied Jack. 



They then paid their mutual respects to the port. 



" He hunts there on Tuesdays," observed Jack, setting down his 

 glass, " so that he may have all Wednesday to get home in, and be 

 sure of appearing on Thursday. There's no saying where he may fin- 

 ish with a cross-road's meet." 



By the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a 

 certain way into each other's confidence. The hint Lord Scamper- 

 dale had given about buying Sponge's horses still occupied Jack's 

 mind ; and the more he considered the subject, and the worth of a 

 corner in his lordship's will, the more sensible he became of the truth 

 of the old adage, that " a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." 

 " My Lord," thought Jack, " promises fair, but it is huts, chance, and 

 a remote one. He may live many years — as long, perhaps longer, 

 than me. Indeed, he puts me on horses that are anything but calcu- 

 lated to promote longevity. Then he may marry a wife who may 

 eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands' agreeable friends ; or 

 he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all." 



All things considered, Jack came to the conclusion that he should 



