320 mr. 



does," said Mr. Sponge, as, with his horse surrounded by them, he 

 moved on in quest of his way home. 



At first, he thought to retrace his steps by the marks of his 

 horse's hoofs, and succeeded in getting back to the dean, where Sir 

 Harry's hounds changed foxes with Lord Scamperdale's ; but he got 

 confused with the imprints of the other horses, and very soon had 

 to trust entirely to chance. Chance, we are sorry to say, did not 

 befriend him ; for after wandering over the wide-extending dovns, 

 he came upon the little hamlet of Tinkler Hatch, and was informed 

 that he had been riding in a semi-circle. He there got some gruel 

 for his horse, and, with day closing in, now set off, as directed, on 

 the Ribchester road, with the assurance that he " couldn't miss hi3 

 way." Some of the hounds here declined following him any further, 

 and slunk into cottages and outhouses as they passed along. Mr. 

 Sponge, however, did not care for their company. 



Having travelled musingly along two or three miles of road, now 

 thinking over the glorious run — now of the gallant way in which 

 Hercules had carried him — now of the pity it was that there was 

 nobody there to see — now of the encounter with Lord Scamperdale, 

 just as he passed a well-filled stack-yard that had shut out the view 

 of a flaming red-brick house with a pea-green door and windows, an 

 outburst of " hoo-rays ! " followed by one cheer more — u hooo-ray ! " 

 made the remaining wild hounds prick up their ears, and our friend 

 rein in his horse, to hear what was " up." A bright fire in a room 

 on the right of the door overpowered the clouds of tobacco-smoke 

 with which the room was enveloped, and revealed sundry scarlet 

 coats in the full glow of joyous hilarity. It was Sir Harry and 

 friends recruiting at Farmer Peastraw's after their exertions ; for, 

 though they could not make much of hunting, they were always 

 ready to drink. They were having a rare set-to — rashers of bacon, 

 wedges of cheese, with oceans of malt-liquor. It was the appearance 

 of a magnificent cold round of home-fed beef, red with salt-petre and 

 flaky with white fat, borne on high by their host, that elicited the 

 applause and the one cheer more that broke on Mr. Sponge's ear as 

 he was passing, — applause that was renewed as they caught a glimpse 

 of his red coat, not on account of his safety or that of the hounds, 

 but simply because being in the cheering mood, they were ready to 

 cheer anything. 



"Hil-Zoo/ there's Mr. What's-his-name ? " exclaimed brother 

 Bob Spangles, as he caught view of Sponge and the hounds passing 

 the window. 



" So there is ! " roared another ; " Hoo-rayf " 



" Hoo-ray ! " yelled two or three more. 



" Stop him ! " cried another. 



" Call him in," roared Sir Harry, " and let's liquor him." 



" Hilloo ! Mister W haV s-your-name I " exclaimed the other 





