Sponge threw himself off,
regardless of the mud-bath in which he lit, and caught the runaway as he
tried to dart past.
'For-rard!--for-rard!--for-rard!' was again the cry, as the hounds hit off
the scent; while the late pausing, panting sportsmen tackled vigorously
with their steeds, and swept onward like the careering wind.
Mr. Sponge, albeit somewhat perplexed, had still sufficient presence of
mind to see the necessity of immediate action; and though he had so lately
contemplated beating a retreat, the unexpected appearance of Parvo altered
the state of affairs.
'Now or never,' said he, looking first at the disappearing field, and then
for the non-appearing Leather. 'Hang it! I may as well see the run,' added
he; so hooking the piebald on to an old stone gate-post that stood in the
ragged fence, and lengthening a stirrup-leather, he vaulted into the
saddle, and began lengthening the other as he went.
It was one of Parvo's going days; indeed, it was that that old Leather and
he had quarrelled about--Parvo wanting to follow the hounds, while Leather
wanted to wait for his master.
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