hem, however, he did, proceeding very cautiously in the direction the
hounds seemed to lean. They were on a piece of cold scenting ground, across
which they could hardly own the scent.

'Don't hurry 'em!' cried Mr. Sponge to Miss Glitters, who was acting
whipper-in with rather unnecessary vigour.

As they got under the lee of the hedge, the scent improved a little, and,
from an occasional feathering stern, a hound or two indulged in a whimper,
until at length they fairly broke out in a cry. 'I'll lose a shoe,' said
Watchorn to himself, looking first at the formidable leap before him, and
then to see if there was any one coming up behind. 'I'll lose a shoe,' said
he. 'No notion of lippin' of a navigable river--a downright arm of the
sea,' added he, getting off.

'Forward! forward!' screeched Mr. Sponge, capping the hounds on, when away
they went, heads up and sterns down as before.

'Ay, for-rard! for-rard!' mimicked Mr. Watchorn; adding, 'you're for-rard
enough, at all events.'

After running about three-quarters of a mile at best pace, Mr. Sponge
viewed the fox crossing a large grass field with all the steam up he could
raise, a few hundred yards ahead of the pack, who were streaming along most
beautifully, not viewing, but gradually gaining upon him. At last they
broke from scent to view, and presently rolled him over and over among
them.

'WHO-HOOP!' screamed Mr. Sponge, throwing himself off his horse
and rushing in amongst them. 'WHO-HOOP!' repeated he, still
louder, holding the fox up in grim death above the baying pack.

'Who-hoop!' exclaimed Miss Glitters, reining up in delight alongside the
chestnut. 'Who-hoop!' repeated she, diving into the saddle-pocket for her
lace-fringed handkerchief.

'Throw me my whip!' cried Mr. Sponge, repelling the attacks of the hounds
from behind with his heels. Having got it, he threw the fox on the ground,
and clearing a circle, he off with his brush in an instant. 'Tear him and
eat him!' cried he, as the pack broke in on the carcass. 'Tear him and eat
him!' repeated he, as he made his way up to Miss Glitters with the brush,
exclaiming, 'We'll put this in your hat, alongside the cock's feathers.'

The fair lady leant towards him, and as he adjusted it becomingly in her
hat, looking at her bewitching eyes, her lovely face, and feeling the sweet
fragrance of her breath, a something shot through Mr. Sponge's pull-devil,
pull-baker coat, his corduroy waistcoat, his Eureka shir