182 



thumps, his rolls and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties 

 and perfections of the thing. He cared nothing for his hat-crown, 

 no ; nor for his coat-lap either. Nay, he wouldn't have cared if it 

 had been made into a spencer. 



" What's to-day? Monday," saiddiis lordship, answering himself. 

 " Monday," he repeated ; " Monday — bubble-and-squeak, I guess — 

 sooner it's ready the better, for I'm half famished — didn't do half 

 justice to that nice breakfast at Springy's. That nasty brown-booted 

 buffer completely threw me off my feed. By the way, what became 

 of the chestnut-booted animal ? " 



" Went home," replied Jack ; " fittest place for him." 



"Hope he'll stay there," rejoined his lordship. "]\ T o fear of his 

 being at the roads to-morrow, is there ? " 



"None," replied Jack. "I told him it was quite an impossible 

 distance from him, twenty miles at least." 



" That's grand ! " exclaimed his lordship ; " that's grand ! Then 

 we'll have a rare, ding-dong hey — away pop. There'll be no end of 

 those nasty, jealous, Pumngton dogs out; and if we have half such a 

 scent as we had to-day, we'll sew some of them up, we'll show 'em 

 what hunting is. Now," he added, " if you'll go and get the bottle 

 of port, I'll clean myself, and then we'll have dinner as quick as we 

 can." 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



THE' FAITHFUL GROOM. 



We left our=>friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after 

 having lost his day at Larkhall Hill. Some of our readers will, 

 perhaps, say, why didn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds 

 at a check, or at all events rejoin them, for an afternoon fox ? Gentle 

 reader ! Mr. Sponge did not hunt on those terms ; he was a front- 

 rank or a " nowhere " man, and independently of catching hounds up, 

 being always a fatiguing and hazardous speculation, especially on a 

 fine-scenting day, the exertion would have taken more out of his 

 horse than would have been desirable for successful display in a 

 second run. Mr. Sponge, therefore, determined to go home. 



As he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, won- 

 dering how Miss Jawleyford would look, and playing himself an 

 occasional tune with his Bpur against his stirrup, who should come 

 trotting behind him but Mr. Leather on the redoubtable chestnut ? 

 Mr. Sponge beckoned him alongside. The horse looked blooming 

 and bright ; his eye was clear and cheerful, and there was a sort of 

 Bpringy, graceful action that looked like easy going. 



