resently
the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mystery.

'By the powers, the fool's at his sticks!' exclaimed Sponge, disgusted at
the contretemps. 'Mister Jogglebury!' roared he, 'Mister Jogglebury, we
shall never catch up the hounds at this rate!'

But Jog was deaf--chop, chop, chop was all the answer Mr. Sponge got.

'Well, hang me if ever I saw such a fellow!' continued Sponge, thinking he
would drive on if he only knew the way.

'Chop, chop, chop,' continued the axe.

'Mister Jogglebury! Mister Jogglebury Crowdey _a-hooi_!' roared Sponge, at
the top of his voice.

[Illustration: MR. JOGGLEBURY CROWDEY ON HIS HOBBY]

The axe stopped. 'Anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood.

'_You come_,' replied Mr. Sponge.

'Presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed.

'The man's mad,' muttered Mr. Sponge, throwing himself back in the seat.
At length Jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with
two fine hollies under his arm. He was running down with perspiration, and
looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to
see if there was any one coming.

'I really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),' exclaimed
he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its
full length--'not that I (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff,
wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that I couldn't
(puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.'

'Well, but I thought we were going to hunt,' observed Mr. Sponge dryly.

'Hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp). My good
(puff) man,' continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who now
came up, 'have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?'

'E-e-s,' replied the man. 'They be gone to Brookdale Plantin'.'

'Then we'd better (puff) after them,' said Jog, running the stick through
the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his
hand.

Away they rattled and jingled as before.

'How far is it?' asked Mr. Sponge, vexed at the detention.

'Oh (puff), close by (wheeze),' replied Jog.

'Close by,' as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is
generally anything but close by. Nor was Jog's close by, close by on this
occasion.

'There,' said Jog, after they had got crawled up Trampington Hill; 'that's
it (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there,' pointing to a
plantation about a mile off