‘Where’s there a gate?’ roared our friend, skating up.

‘Gate! there’s never a gate within a mile, and that’s locked,’ replied Watchorn sulkily.

‘Then here goes!’ replied Mr. Sponge, gathering the chestnut together to give him an opportunity of purging himself of his previous faux pas.  ‘Here goes!’ repeated he, thrusting his hard hat firmly on his head.  Taking his horse back a few paces, Mr. Sponge crammed him manfully at the palings, and got over with a rap.

‘Well done you!’ exclaimed Miss Glitters in delight; adding to Watchorn, ‘Now, old Beardey, you go next.’

Beardey was irresolute.  He pretended to be anxious to get the tail hounds over.

‘Clear the way, then!’ exclaimed Miss Glitters, putting her horse back, her bright eyes flashing as she spoke.  She took him back as far as Mr. Sponge had done, touched him with the whip, and in an instant she was high in the air, landing safely on the far side.

‘Hoo-ray!’ exclaimed Captains Quod and Cutitfat, who now came panting up.

‘Now, Mr. Watchorn!’ cried Captain Seedeybuck, adding, ‘You’re a huntsman!’

‘Yooi over, Prosperous!  Yooi over, Buster!’ cheered Watchorn, still pretending anxiety about his hounds.

‘Let me have a shy,’ squeaked George Cheek, backing his giraffe, as he had seen Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters do.

George took his screw by the head, and, giving him a hearty rib-roasting with his whip, ran him full tilt at the palings, and carried away half a rood.

‘Hoo-ray!’ cried the liberated field.

‘I knew how it would be,’ exclaimed Mr. Watchorn, in well-feigned disgust as he rode through the gap; adding, ’con-founded young waggabone!  Deserves to be well chaste-tized for breakin’ people’s palin’s in that way—­lettin’ in all the rubbishin’ tail.’

The scene then changed.  In lieu of the green, though hard, sward of the undulating park, our friends now found themselves on large frozen fallows, upon whose uneven surface the heaviest horses made no impression while the shuffling rats of ponies toiled and floundered about, almost receding in their progress.  Mr. Sponge was just topping the fence out of the first one, and Miss Glitters was gathering her horse to ride at it, as Watchorn and Co. emerged from the park.  Rounding the turnip-hill beyond, the leading hounds were racing with a breast-high scent, followed by the pack in long-drawn file.

‘What a mess!’ said Watchorn to himself, shading the sun from his eyes with his hand; when, remembering his role, he exclaimed, ’Y-o-o-n-der they go!’ as if in ecstasies at the sight.  Seeing a gate at the bottom of the field, he got his horse by the head, and rattled him across the fallow, blowing his horn more in hopes of stopping the pack than with a view of bringing up the tail-hounds.  He might have saved his breath, for the music of the pack completely drowned the noise of the horn.  ‘Dash it!’ said he, thumping the broad end against his thigh; ’I wish I was quietly back in my parlour.  Hold up, horse!’ roared he, as Harkaway nearly came on his haunches in pulling up at the gate.  ‘I know who’s not Cardinal Wiseman,’ continued he, stooping to open it.