‘Went home,’ replied Jack; ‘fittest place for him.’

‘Hope he’ll stay there,’ rejoined his lordship.  ’No fear of his being at the roads to-morrow, is there?’ ‘None,’ replied Jack.  ’I told him it was quite an impossible distance from him, twenty miles at least.’

‘That’s grand!’ exclaimed his lordship; ’that’s grand!  Then we’ll have a rare, ding-dong hey—­away pop.  There’ll be no end of those nasty, jealous.  Puffington dogs out; and if we have half such a scent as we had to-day, we’ll sew some of them up, we’ll show ’em what hunting is.  Now,’ he added, ’if you’ll go and get the bottle of port, I’ll clean myself, and then we’ll have dinner as quick as we can.’

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FAITHFUL GROOM

We left our friend Mr. Sponge wending his way home moodily, after having lost his day at Larkhall Hill.  Some of our readers will, perhaps, say, why didn’t he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at all events rejoin them for an afternoon fox?  Gentle reader!  Mr. Sponge did not hunt on those terms; he was a front-rank or a ‘nowhere’ man, and independently of catching hounds up being always a fatiguing and hazardous speculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would have taken more out of his horse than would have been desirable for successful display in a second run.  Mr. Sponge, therefore, determined to go home.

As he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, wondering how Miss Jawleyford would look, and playing himself an occasional tune with his spur against his stirrup, who should come trotting behind him but Mr. Leather on the redoubtable chestnut?  Mr. Sponge beckoned him alongside.  The horse looked blooming and bright; his eye was clear and cheerful, and there was a sort of springy graceful action that looked like easy going.

One always fancies a horse most with another man on him.  We see all his good points without feeling his imperfections—­his trippings, or startings, or snatchings, or borings, or roughness of action, and Mr. Sponge proceeded to make a silent estimate of Multum in Parvo’s qualities as he trotted gently along on the grassy side of the somewhat wide road.

‘By Jove! it’s a pity but his lordship had seen him,’ thought Sponge, as the emulation of companionship made the horse gradually increase his pace, and steal forward with the lightest, freest action imaginable.’  If he was but all right,’ continued Sponge, with a shake of the head, ’he would be worth any money, for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetry and action of a racer.’

Then Sponge thought he shouldn’t have an opportunity of showing the horse till Thursday, for Jack had satisfied him that the next day’s meet was quite beyond distance from Jawleyford Court.

‘It’s a bore,’ said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the piebald with his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race.  He thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were now approaching; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted.  ’These horses have done nothing to-day,’ he said; ’why shouldn’t I send the chestnut on for to-morrow?’