to our
friend Mr. Sponge, but he felt more equal to cope with him--he even felt as
if he could fight him. There did not, however, seem to be much likelihood
of his having to perform that ceremony, for nine o'clock struck and no Mr.
Sponge, and at half-past Mr. Crowdey stumped off to bed.

Mrs. Crowdey, having given Bartholomew and Susan a dirty pack of cards to
play with to keep them awake till Mr. Sponge arrived, went to bed, too, and
the house was presently tranquil.

It, however, happened that that amazing prodigy, Gustavus James, having
been out on a sort of eleemosynary excursion among the neighbouring farmers
and people, exhibiting as well his fine blue-feathered hat, as his
astonishing proficiency in 'Bah! bah! black sheep,' and 'Obin and Ichard,'
getting seed-cake from one, sponge cake from another, and toffy from a
third, was troubled with a very bad stomach-ache during the night, of
which he soon made the house sensible by his screams and his cries. Jog and
his wife were presently at him; and, as Jog sat in his white cotton
nightcap and flowing flannel dressing-gown in an easy chair in the nursery,
he heard the crack of the whip, and the prolonged _yeea-yu-u-p_ of Mr.
Sponge's arrival. Presently the trampling of a horse was heard passing
round to the stable. The clock then struck one.

[Illustration: GUSTAVUS JAMES IN TROUBLE]

'Pretty hour for a man to come home to a strange house!' observed Mr. Jog,
for the nurse, or Murry Ann, or Mrs. Jog, or any one that liked, to take
up.

Mrs. Jog was busy with the rhubarb and magnesia, and the others said
nothing. After the lapse of a few minutes, the clank, clank, clank of Mr.
Sponge's spurs was heard as he passed round to the front, and Mr. Jog stole
out on to the landing to hear how he would get in.

Thump! thump! thump! went Mr. Sponge at the door; rap--tap--tap he went at
it with his whip.

'Comin', sir! comin'!' exclaimed Bartholomew from the inside.

Presently the shooting of bolts, the withdrawal of bands, and the opening
of doors, were heard.

'Not gone to bed yet, old boy?' said Mr. Sponge, as he entered.

'No, thir!' snuffled the boy, who had a bad cold, 'been thitten up for
you.'

'Old puff-and-blow gone?' asked Mr. Sponge, depositing his hat and whip on
a chair.

The boy gave no answer.

'Is old bellows-to-mend gone to bed?' asked Mr. Sponge in a louder voice.

'The charman's gone,' replied the boy, who looked upon his master--the
chairman