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.
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