as to time and distances, managed to
finish the port. We will now pass to the next morning.

Whatever deficiency there might be at dinner was amply atoned for at
breakfast, which was both good and abundant; bread and cake of all sorts,
eggs, muffins, toast, honey, jellies, and preserves without end. On the
side-table was a dish of hot kidneys and a magnificent red home-fed ham.

But a greater treat far, as Mrs. Jogglebury thought, was in the guests set
around. There were arranged all her tulips in succession, beginning with
that greatest of all wonders, Gustavus James, and running on with Anna
Maria, Frederick John, Juliana Jane, Margaret Henrietta, Sarah Amelia, down
to Peter William, the heir, who sat next his pa. These formed a close line
on the side of the table opposite the fire, that side being left for Mr.
Sponge. All the children had clean pinafores on, and their hairs plastered
according to nursery regulation. Mr. Sponge's appearance was a signal for
silence, and they all sat staring at him in mute astonishment. Baby,
Gustavus James, did more; for after reconnoitring him through a sort of
lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined out, 'Who's that ogl-e-y
man, ma?' amidst the titter of the rest of the line.

'Hush! my dear,' exclaimed Mrs. Crowdey, hoping Mr. Sponge hadn't heard.
But Gustavus James was not to be put down, and he renewed the charge as his
mamma began pouring out the tea.

'Send that ogl-e-y man away, ma!' whined he, in a louder tone, at which all
the children burst out a-laughing.

'Baby (puff), Gustavus! (wheeze),' exclaimed Jog, knocking with the handle
of his knife against the table, and frowning at the prodigy.

'Well, pa, he _is_ a ogl-e-y man,' replied the child, amid the
ill-suppressed laughter of the rest.

'Ah, but what have _I_ got!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, producing a gaudily
done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and distributing the
unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with
a great, red-daubed, almond comfit.

Breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. As it drew to
a close, and Mr. Sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing
his attack on the solids, Mrs. Jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her
husband.

'Jog, my dear,' said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the
egg-stand, which still contained three eggs.

'Well, my dear,' replied Jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to