Jog's cup.

Mr. Sponge, too, applauded. 'Well, that _was_ very clever,' said he,
filling his mouth with cold ham.

'"Saddle my dog, and bridle my hog"--I'll trouble you for another cup of
tea,' addressing Mrs. Crowdey.

'No, not "saddle my dog," sil-l-e-y man!' drawled the child, making a pet
lip: '"saddle my _hog_."'

'Oh! "saddle my hog," was it?' replied Mr. Sponge, with apparent surprise;
'I thought it was "saddle my dog." I'll trouble you for the sugar, Mrs.
Jogglebury'; adding, 'you have devilish good cream here; how many cows have
you?'

'Cows (puff), cows (wheeze)?' replied Jogglebury; 'how many cows?' repeated
he.

'Oh, _two_,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury tartly, vexed at the interruption.

'Pardon me (puff),' replied Jogglebury slowly and solemnly, with a full
blow into his frill; 'pardon me, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey,
but there are _three_ (wheeze).'

'Not in milk. Jog--not in milk,' retorted Mrs. Crowdey.

'Three cows, Mrs. (puff) Jogglebury (wheeze) Crowdey, notwithstanding,'
rejoined our host.

'Well; but when people talk of cream, and ask how many cows you have, they
mean in milk, _Mister_ Jogglebury Crowdey.'

'Not necessarily. Mistress Jogglebury Crowdey,' replied the pertinacious
Jog, with another heavy snort. 'Ah, now you're coming your fine poor-law
guardian knowledge,' rejoined his wife. Jog was chairman of the
Stir-it-stiff Union.

While this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his high
chair, evidently mortified at the want of attention.

Mrs. Crowdey saw how things were going, and turning from the cow question,
endeavoured to re-engage him in his recitations.

'Now, my angel!' exclaimed she, again showing him the sugar; 'tell us about
"Obin and Ichard."'

'No--not "Obin and Ichard,"' pouted the child.

'Oh yes, my sweet, _do_, that's a good child; the gentleman in the pretty
coat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it.'

'Come, out with it, young man!' exclaimed Mr. Sponge, now putting a large
piece of cold beef into his mouth.

'Not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending
his little fat arms to his mamma.

'No, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied Mrs. Jogglebury, taking him out
of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom.

'He'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed Mr. Sponge,
nothing disconcerted by the noise.

Jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and tw