341 



Mr. Sponge ; and, just as lie spoke, ivhirr ! rose a covey of par- 

 tridges, eleven in number, quite at an impossible distance, but Jog 

 blazed away all the same. 



" Ord rot it, man ! If you'd only held your (something) tongue," 

 growled Jog, as he shaded the sun from his eyes to mark them down, 

 "I'd have (wheezed) half of them over." 



" Nonsense, man ! " replied Mr. Sponge. " They were a mile out 

 of 'shot." 



" I think I should know my (puff) gun better than (wheeze) you," 

 replied Jog, bringing it down to load. 



" They're down ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, who, having watched 

 them till they began to skim in their flight, saw them stop, flap 

 their wings, and drop among some straggling gorse on the hill 

 before them. " Let's break the covey ; we shall bag them better 

 singly." 



" Take time (puff)," replied Jog, snorting into his frill, and mea- 

 suring out his powder most leisurely. " Take time (wheeze)," re- 

 peated he ; " they're just on the bounds of moy ter-ri-to-ry." 



Jog had had many a game at romps with these birds, and knew 

 their haunts and habits to a nicety. The covey consisted of thirteen 

 at first, but by repeated blazings into the "brown of 'em," he had 

 succeeded in knocking down two. Jog was not one of your conceited 

 shots, who never fired but when he was sure of killing ; on the con- 

 trary, he always let drive far or near ; and even if he shot a hare, 

 which he sometimes did, with the first barrel, he always popped the 

 second into her, to make sure. The chairman's shooting afforded 

 amusement to the neighbourhood. On one occasion a party of reap- 

 ers, having watched him miss twelve shots in succession, gave him 

 three cheers on coming to the thirteenth. — But to our day. Jog had 

 now got his gun reloaded with mischief, the cap put on, and all ready 

 for a iresh start. Ponto, meanwhile, had been ranging, Jog thinking 

 it better to let him take the edge off his ardour than conform to the 

 strict rules of lying down or coming to heel. 



" Now, let's on," cried Mr. Sponge, stepping out quickly. 



" Take time (puff), take time (wheeze)," gasped Jog, waddling 

 along; " better let 'em settle a little (puff). Better let 'em settle a 

 little (gasp)," added he, labouring on. 



" Oh no, keep them moving," replied Mr. Sponge, — " keep them 

 moving. Only get at 'em on the hill, and drive 'em into the fields 

 below, and we shall have rare fun." 



" But the (puff) fields below are not mine," gasped Jog. 



".Whose are they ? " asked Mr. Sponge. 



" Oh (puff), Mrs. Moses's." gasped Jog. " My stoopid old 

 uncle," continued he, stopping, and laying liold of Mr. Sponge's 

 arm, as if to illustrate his position, but in reality to get breath, — 

 " my stoopid old uncle (puff) missed buying that (wheeze) land when 



