Sponge felt that it would be well to get
some of the nonsense taken out of him; and, moreover, going to Nonsuch
House would give him a chance of establishing a billet there--a chance that
he had been deprived of by Sir Harry's abrupt departure from Farmer
Peastraw's. So saying, our friend gathered his horse together, and settling
himself in his saddle, made his sound hoofs ring upon the hard road.
'He _may_ hunt,' thought Mr. Sponge, as he rattled along; 'such a rum
beggar as Sir Harry may think it fun to go out in a frost. It's hard, too,'
said he, as he saw the poor turnip-pullers enveloped in their thick shawls,
and watched them thumping their arms against their sides to drive the cold
from their finger-ends.
Multum-in-Parvo was a good, sound-constitutioned horse, hard and firm as a
cricket-ball, a horse that would not turn a hair for a trifle even on a
hunting morning, let alone on such a thorough chiller as this one was; and
Mr. Sponge, after going along at a good round pace, and getting over the
ground much quicker than he did when the road was all new to him, and he
had to ask his way, at length drew in to see what o'clock it was.
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