308 me. 



CHAPTER L 



The reason Mr. Sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty 

 intelligible hint given by his host, was, that as he was passing his 

 shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in 

 a purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, 

 at a pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. It was the 

 kennel, stable, and servants' hall courier of Nonsuch House, come 

 to say that Sir Harry hunted that day. 



Presently Mr. Leather knocked at Mr. Sponge's bedroom door, 

 and, being invited in, announced the fact. 



" Sir Arry's 'ounds 'unt," said he, twisting the door handle as he 

 spoke. 



" What time ? " asked Mr. Sponge, with his half-shaven face 

 turned towards hin. 



" Meet at eleven," replied Leather. 

 " Where ? " inquired Mr. Sponge. 

 " Nonsuch House, 'bout nine miles off." 



It ivas thirteen, but Mr. Leather heard the malt liquor was good, 

 and wanted to taste it. 



" Take on the brown, then," said Mr. Sponge, quite pompously ; 

 " and tell Bartholomew to have the hack at the door at ten — or say 

 a quarter to. Tell him, I'll lick him for every minute he's late ; 

 and, mind, don't let old Rorey O'More here know," meaning our 

 friend Jog, " or he may take a fancy to go, and we shall never get 

 there," alluding to their former excursion. 



" No, no," replied Mr. Leather, leaving the room. 

 Mr. Sponge then arrayed himself in his hunting costuine — scarlet 

 coat, green tie, blue vest, gosling coloured cords, and brown tops ; 

 and was greeted with a round of applause from the little Jogs as he 

 entered the breakfast room. Gustavus James would handle him ; 

 and, considering that hie paws were all over raspberry jam, our friend 

 would as soon have dispensed with his attentions. Mrs. Jog was all 

 smiles, and Jog all scowls. 



A little after ten our friend, cigar in mouth, was in the saddle. 

 Mrs. Jog, with Gustavus James in her arms, and all the children 

 clustering about, stood in the passage to see him start, and watch the 

 capers and caprioles of the piebald, as he ambled down the avenue. 



" Nine miles — nine miles," muttered Mr. Sponge to himself, as he 

 passed through the Lodge and turned up the Quarryburn Road ; "do 



