‘N-o-a, no, ar don’t want to be sociable,’ growled he, diving into his trouser-pockets, and wriggling about on his chair.

‘Well, then, what will you do?’ asked Miss Howard.

‘Hunt,’ replied the youth.

‘Hunt!’ exclaimed Bob Spangles; ‘why, the ground’s as hard as bricks.’

‘N-o-a, it’s not,’ replied the youth.

‘What a whelp!’ exclaimed Miss Howard, rising from the table in disgust.

‘My Uncle Jellyboy wouldn’t let such a frost stop him, I know,’ observed the boy.

‘Who’s your Uncle Jellyboy?’ asked Miss Glitters.

‘He’s a farmer, and keeps a few harriers at Scutley,’ observed Bob Spangles, sotto voce.

‘And is that your extraordinary horse with all the legs?’ asked Miss Howard, putting her glass to her eye, and scrutinizing a lank, woolly-coated weed, getting led about by a blue-aproned gardener.  ’Is that your extraordinary horse, with all the legs?’ repeated she, following the animal about with her glass.

‘Hoots, it hasn’t more legs than other people’s,’ growled George.

‘It’s got ten, at all events,’ replied Miss Howard, to the astonishment of the juveniles.

‘Nor, it hasn’t,’ replied George.

‘Yes, it has,’ rejoined the lady.

‘Nor, it hasn’t,’ repeated George.

‘Come and see,’ said the lady; adding, ’perhaps it’s put out some since you got off.’

George slouched up to where she stood at the window.

‘Now,’ said he, as the gardener turned the horse round, and he saw it had but four, ‘how many has it?’

‘Ten!’ replied Miss Howard.

‘Hoots,’ replied George, ‘you think it’s April Fool’s Day, I dare say.’

‘No, I don’t,’ replied Miss Howard; ’but I maintain your horse has ten legs.  See, now!’ continued she, ‘what do you call these coming here?’

‘His two forelegs,’ replied George.

‘Well, two fours—­twice four’s eight, eh? and his two hind ones make ten.’

‘Hoots,’ growled George, amidst the mirth of his comrades, ‘you’re makin’ a fool o’ one.’

‘Well, but what must I do with all these little (hiccup) creatures?’ asked Sir Harry again, seeing the plot still thickening outside.

‘Turn them out a bagman?’ suggested Mr. Sponge, in an undertone; adding, ’Watchorn has a three-legged ‘un, I know, in the hay-loft.’

‘Oh, Watchorn wouldn’t (hiccup) on such a day as this,’ replied Sir Harry.  ‘New Year’s Day, too—­most likely away, seeing his young hounds at walk.’

‘We might see, at all events,’ observed Mr. Sponge.

‘Well,’ assented Sir Harry, ringing the bell.  ‘Peter,’ said he, as the servant answered the summons, ’I wish you would (hiccup) to Mr. Watchorn’s, and ask if he’ll have the kindness to (hiccup) down here.’  Sir Harry was obliged to be polite, for Watchorn, too, was on the ‘free’ list as Miss Glitters called it.