298 MR. sponge's sporting tour. 



They then rumbled on some time in silence. 



When they came within sight of Snobston Green, the coast was 

 clear. IS ot a red coat, or hunting indication of any sort, was to be 

 seen. 



" I told you so (puff) ! " growled Jog, blowing full_ into his frill, 

 and pulling up short. 



11 They be gone to Hackberry Dean," said an old man, breaking 

 stones by the road-side. 



" Hackberry Dean (puff) — Hackberry Dean (wheeze) ! " replied 

 Jog, thoughtfully ; " then we must (puff) by Tollarton Mill, and 

 through the (wheeze) village to Stewley ? " 



" Y-e-a-z," drawled the man. 



Jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, 

 whose finger-post directed the road "to Tollarton." He seemed less 

 disconcerted than Sponge, who kept inwardly anathematising, not 

 only " Obin and Ichard," but " Diddle, diddle, doubt,"— " Bah, bah, 

 black sheep," — the whole tribe of nursery ballads, in short. 



The fact was, Jog wanted to be into Hackberry Dean, which was 

 full of fine, straight hollies, fit either for gibbeys or whip-sticks, and 

 the hounds being there gave him the entree. It was for helping 

 himself there, without this excuse, that he had been " county courted," 

 and he did not care to renew his acquaintance with the judge. He 

 now whipped and jagged the old nag, as if intent on catching the 

 hounds. Mr. Sponge liberated his whip from the apron-straps, and 

 lent a hand when Jog began to flag. So they rattled and jiDglcd 

 away at an amended pace. Still it seemed to Mr. Sponge as if they 

 would never get there. Having passed through Tollarton, and cleared 

 the village of Stewley, Mr. Sponge strained his eyes in every direc- 

 tion where there was a bit of wood, in hopes of seeing something of 

 the hounds. Meanwhile Jog was shuffling his little axe from below 

 the cushion of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great coat. All 

 of a sudden he pulled up, as they were passing a bank of wood (Hack- 

 berry Dean), and handing the reins to his companion, said, 



" Just lay hold for a minute whilst I (puff) out." 



" What's happened ? " asked Sponge. " Not sick again, are you ?" 



" No (puff) not exactly (wheeze) sick, but I want to be out all the 

 (puff) same." 



So saying, out he bundled, and crushing through the fern-grown 

 woodbiney fence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our 

 hero. Presently the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mys- 

 tery. 



" By the powers, the fool's at his sticks ! " exclaimed Sponge, 

 disgusted at the contretemps. " Mister Jogglebury ! " roared he, 

 " Mister Jogglebury, we shall never catch up the hounds at this 

 rate ! " 



But Jog was deaf — chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. 

 Sponge got. 



