checked at
last!' exclaimed he, as the music suddenly ceased, and Mr. Sponge and Miss
Glitters sat motionless together on their panting, smoking steeds.

Watchorn then stuck spurs to his horse, and being now on a flat rushy
pasture, with a bridle-gate into the field where the hounds were casting,
he hustled across, preparing his horn for a blow as soon as he got there.

'Twang--twang--twang--twang,' he went, riding up the hedgerow in the
contrary direction to what the hounds leant. 'Twang--twang--twang,' he
continued, inwardly congratulating himself that the fox would never face
the troop of urchins he saw coming down with their guns.

'Hang him!--he's never that way!' observed Mr. Sponge, _sotto voce_, to
Miss Glitters. 'He's never that way,' repeated he, seeing how Frantic flung
to the right.

'Twang--twang--twang,' went the horn, but the hounds regarded it not.

'Do, Mr. Sponge, put the hounds to me!' roared Mr. Watchorn, dreading lest
they might hit off the scent.

Mr. Sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds were
feathering, and giving them a slight cheer.

''Ord rot it!' roared Watchorn, '_do_ let 'em alone! that's a _fresh_ fox!
ours is over the 'ill,' pointing towards Bonnyfield Hill.

'Hoop!' hallooed Mr. Sponge, taking off his hat, as Frantic hit off the
scent to the right, and Galloper, and Melody, and all the rest scored to
cry.

'Oh, you confounded brown-bouted beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, returning
his horn to its case, and eyeing Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sailing away
with the again breast-high-scent pack. 'Oh, you exorbitant usurer!'
continued he, gathering his horse to skate after them. 'Well now, that's
the most disgraceful proceedin' I ever saw in the whole course of my life.
Hang me, if I'll stand such work! Dash me, but I'll 'quaint the
Queen!--I'll tell Sir George Grey! I'll write to Mr. Walpole! Fo-orrard!
fo-orrard!' hallooed he, as Bob Spangles and Bouncey popped upon him
unexpectedly from behind, exclaiming with well-feigned glee, as he pointed
to the streaming pack with his whip, ''Ord dash it, but we're in for a good
thing!'

Little Bouncey's horse was still yawning and star-gazing, and Bouncey,
being quite unequal to riding him and well-nigh exhausted, 'downed' him
against a rubbing-post in the middle of a field, making a 'cannon' with his
own and his horse's head, and was immediately the centre of attraction for
the panting tail. Bouncey got near