mr. sponge's sporting tour. 343 



Jog was very wroth, and vented his anger on the dog, which, he 

 declared, had caused him to miss, vowing, as he rammed away at the 

 charge, that he never missed such a shot before. Mr. Sponge stood 

 eyeing him with a look of incredulity, thinking that a man who 

 could miss such a shot could miss anything. They were now all 

 ready for a fresh start, and Ponto, having pocketed his objurgation, 

 dashed forward again up the rising ground over which the covey had 

 dropped. 



Jog's thick wind was a serious impediment to the expeditious 

 mounting of the hill, and the dog seemed aware of his infirmity, and 

 to take pleasure in aggravating him. 



" P-o-o-n-io ! " gasped Jog, as he slipped, and scrambled, and 

 toiled, sorely impeded by the incumbrance of his gun. 



But P-o-o-n-to heeded him not. He knew his master couldn't 

 catch him, and if he did, that he durstn't flog him. 



" P-o-o-n-to ! " gasped Jog again, still louder, catching at a bush 

 to prevent his slipping back. " T-o-o-h-o-o. P-o-o-n-to ! " wheezed 

 he ; but the dog just rolled his great stern, and bustled about more 

 actively than ever. 



" Hang ye ! but I'd cut you in two if I had you ! " exclaimed 

 Mr. Sponge, eyeing his independent proceedings. 



" He's not a bad (puff) dog," observed Jog, mopping the perspi- 

 ration from his brow. 



" He's not a good 'un," retorted Mr. Sponge. 



" D'ye think not (wheeze) ? " asked Jog. 



" dure of it," replied Sponge. 



" Serves me," growled Jog, labouring up the hill. 



" Easy served," replied Mr. Sponge, whistling, and eyeing the in- 

 dependent animal. 



"T-o-o-h-o-o / P-o-o-n-to ! " gasped Jog, as he dashed forward on 

 reaching level ground more eagerly than ever. 



" P-o-o-n-to ! T-o-o-h-o-o ! "/ repeated he, in a still louder tone, 

 with the same success. 



" You'd better get up to him," observed Mr. Sponge, or he'll 

 spring all the birds." 



Jog, however, blundered on at his own pace, growling — 



u Most (puff) haste, least (wheeze) speed." 



The dog was now fast drawing upon where the birds lit ; and Mr. 

 Sponge and Jog having reached the top of the hill, Mr. Sponge stood 

 still to watch the result. 



Up whirred four birds out of a patch of gorse behind the dog, all 

 presenting most beautiful shots. Jog blazed a barrel at them with- 

 out touching a feather, and the report of the gun immediately raised 

 three brace more, into the thick of which he fired with similar suc- 

 cess. They all skimmed away unhurt. 



" Well missed ! " exclaimed Mr. Sponge again. " You're what 

 they call a good shooter, but a bad hitter." 



