bserved Watchorn to Snaffle, 'unless as how you wish to put him on one of
yours.'

'Not I,' exclaimed Snaffle; 'have enough to mount without him. D'ye know
how many'll be goin'?' asked he.

'No,' replied Watchorn, hurrying off; adding, as he went, 'oh, hang 'em,
just saddle 'em all, and let 'em scramble for 'em.'

The scene then changed. Instead of hissing helpers pursuing their vocations
in stable or saddle-room, they began bustling about with saddles on their
heads and bridles in their hands, the day of expected ease being changed
into one of unusual trouble. Mr. Leather declared, as he swept the clothes
over Multum-in-Parvo's tail, that it was the most unconscionable proceeding
he had ever witnessed; and muttered something about the quiet comforts he
had left at Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey's, hinting his regret at having come to
Sir Harry's, in a sort of dialogue with himself as he saddled the horse.
The beauties of the last place always come out strong when a servant gets
to another. But we must accompany Mr. Watchorn.

Though his early career with the Camberwell and Balham Hill Union harriers
had not initiated him much into the delicacies of the chase, yet,
recollecting the presence of Mr. Sponge, he felt suddenly seized with a
desire of 'doing things as they should be'; and he went muttering to the
kennel, thinking how he would leave Dinnerbell and Prosperous at home, and
how the pack would look quite as well without Frantic running half a field
ahead, or old Stormer and Stunner bringing up the rear with long protracted
howls. He doubted, indeed, whether he would take Desperate, who was an
incorrigible skirter; but as she was not much worse in this respect than
Chatterer or Harmony, who was also an inveterate babbler, and the pack
would look rather short without them, he reserved the point for further
consideration, as the judges say.

His speculations were interrupted by arriving at the kennel, and finding
the door fast, he looked under the slate, and above the frame, and inside
the window, and on the wall, for the key; and his shake, and kick, and
clatter were only answered by a full chorus from the excited company
within.

'Hang the feller! what's got 'im!' exclaimed he, meaning Joe Haggish, the
feeder, whom he expected to find there.

Joe, however, was absent; not holiday-making, but on a diplomatic visit to
Mr. Greystones, the miller, at Splashford, who had positively refused to
supply any more meal, until