The gate was fast, and he had to alight and lift it off its hinges.  Just as he had done so, and had got it sufficiently open for a horse to pass, George Cheek came up from behind, and slipped through before him.

’Oh, you unrighteous young renegade!  Did ever mortal see sich an uncivilized trick?’ roared Watchorn; adding, as he climbed on to his horse again, and went spluttering through the frozen turnips after the offender, ’You’ve no ‘quaintance with Lord John Manners, I think!’

‘Oh dear!—­oh dear!’ exclaimed he, as his horse nearly came on his head, ‘but this is the most punishin’ affair I ever was in at.  Puseyism’s nothin’ to it.’  And thereupon he indulged in no end of anathemas at Slarkey for bringing the wrong fox.

‘About time to take soundings, and cast anchor, isn’t it?’ gasped Captain Bouncey, toiling up red-hot on his pulling horse in a state of utter exhaustion, as Watchorn stood craneing and looking at a rasper through which Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters had passed, without disturbing a twig.

‘C—­a—­s—­t anchor!’ exclaimed Watchorn, in a tone of derision—­’not this half-hour yet, I hope!—­not this forty minnits yet, I hope;—­not this hour and twenty minnits yet, I hope!’ continued he, putting his horse irresolutely at the fence.  The horse blundered through it, barking Watchorn’s nose with a branch.

‘’Ord rot it, cut off my nose!’ exclaimed he, muffling it up in his hand.  ‘Cut off my nose clean by my face, I do believe,’ continued he, venturing to look into his hand for it.  ‘Well,’ said he, eyeing the slight stain of blood on his glove, ’this will be a lesson to me as long as I live.  If ever I ’unt again in a frost, may I be ——.  Thank goodness! they’ve checked at last!’ exclaimed he, as the music suddenly ceased, and Mr. Sponge and Miss Glitters sat motionless together on their panting, smoking steeds.

Watchorn then stuck spurs to his horse, and being now on a flat rushy pasture, with a bridle-gate into the field where the hounds were casting, he hustled across, preparing his horn for a blow as soon as he got there.

‘Twang—­twang—­twang—­twang,’ he went, riding up the hedgerow in the contrary direction to what the hounds leant.  ‘Twang—­twang—­twang,’ he continued, inwardly congratulating himself that the fox would never face the troop of urchins he saw coming down with their guns.

‘Hang him!—­he’s never that way!’ observed Mr. Sponge, sotto voce, to Miss Glitters.  ‘He’s never that way,’ repeated he, seeing how Frantic flung to the right.

‘Twang—­twang—­twang,’ went the horn, but the hounds regarded it not.

‘Do, Mr. Sponge, put the hounds to me!’ roared Mr. Watchorn, dreading lest they might hit off the scent.

Mr. Sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds were feathering, and giving them a slight cheer.

‘’Ord rot it!’ roared Watchorn, ’do let ’em alone! that’s a fresh fox! ours is over the ‘ill,’ pointing towards Bonnyfield Hill.