' He
then jogged on at a pace suitable to the accurate measurement of the
distance.
The horse seemed to like having Sponge's red coat on better than Leather's
brown, and champed his bit, and stepped away quite gaily.
'Confound it!' exclaimed Sponge, laying the rein on its neck, and leaning
forward to pat him; 'it's a pity but you were always in this humour--you'd
be worth a mint of money if you were.' He then resumed his seat in the
saddle, and bethought him how he would show them the way on the morrow. 'If
he doesn't beat every horse in the field, it shan't be my fault,' thought
he; and thereupon he gave him the slightest possible touch with the spur,
and the horse shot away up a strip of grass like an arrow.
'By Jove, but you _can_ go!' said he, pulling up as the grass ran out upon
the hard road.
Thus he reached the village of Hardington, which he quickly cleared, and
took the well-defined road to Bewley--a road adorned with milestones and
set out with a liberal horse-track at either side.
Day had closed ere our friend reached Bewley, but the children returning
from school, and the country folks leaving their work, kept assuring him
that he was on the right line, till the lights of the town, bursting upon
him as he rounded the hill above, showed him the end of his journey.
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