342 mil sponge's sporting tour. 



old Harry Griperton died. I only wanted that to make moy (wheeze) 

 ter-ri-to-ry extend all the (gasp) way up to Cockwhistle Park there," 

 continued he, climbing on to a stile they now approached, and setting 

 aside the top stone. " That's Cockwhistle Park, up there — just 

 where you see the (puff) windmill — then (puff) moy (wheeze) ter-ri- 

 to-ry comes up to the (wheeze) fallow you see all yellow with runch ; 

 and if my old (puff) uncle (wheeze) Crowdey had had the sense of a 

 (gasp) goose, he'd have (wheezed) that when it was sold. Moy 

 (puff) name was (wheeze) Jogglebury," added he, "before my (gasp) 

 uncle died." 



" Well, never mind about that," replied Mr. Sponge ; " let us go 

 on after these birds." 



" Oh, well (puff) up to them presently," observed Jog, labouring 

 away, with half a ton of clay at each foot, the sun having dispelled 

 the frost where it struck, and made the land carry. 



" Presently ! " retorted Mr. Sponge. " But you should make 

 haste, man." 



" Well, but let me go my own (puff) pace," snapped Jog, labour- 

 ing away. 



" Pace ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge, " your own crawl, you should 

 say." 



" Indeed ! " growled Jog, with an angry snort. 



They now got through a well-established cattle-gap into a very 

 rushy, squashy, gorse-grown pasture, at the bottom of the rising 

 ground on which Mr. Sponge had marked the birds. Ponto, whose 

 energetic exertions had been gradually relaxing, until he had settled 

 down to a leisurely hunting-dog, suddenly stood transfixed, with the 

 right foot up, and his gaze settled on a rushy tuft. 



" P-o-o-n-io I " ejaculated Jog, expecting every minute to see 

 him dash at it. " P-o-o-n-to ! " repeated he, raising his hand. 



" Mr. Sponge stood on the tip-toe of expectation ; Jog raised his 

 wide-awake hat from his eyes, and advanced cautiously with the en- 

 gine of destruction cocked. Up started a great hare ; bang ! went 

 the gun with the hare none the worse. Bang ! went the other 

 barrel, which the hare acknowledged by two or three stotting bounds 

 and an increase of pace. 



" Well missed ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge. 



Away went Ponto in pursuit. 



" P-o-o-n-to ! " shrieked Jog, stamping with rage. 



" I could have wiped your nose," exclaimed Mr. Sponge, covering 

 the hare with a hedge-stake placed to his shoulder like a gun. 



" Could you ? " growled Jog ; " 'spose you wipe your own," add- 

 ed he, not understanding the meaning of the term. 



Meanwhile, old Ponto went rolling away most energetically, the 

 farther he went the farther he was left behind, till the hare having 

 scuttled out of sight, he wheeled about and came leisurely back, as 

 if he was doing all right. 



