Holding up his hand to beckon Lucy to stop, he
sat eyeing them intently. Many of them had their heads up, and not a few
were casting sheep's eyes at the sheep. Some few of the line hunters were
persevering with the scent over the greasy ground. It was a critical
moment. They cast to the right, then to the left, and again took a wider
sweep in advance, returning however towards the sheep, as if they thought
them the best spec after all.
'Put 'em to me,' said Mr. Sponge, giving Miss Glitters his whip; 'put 'em
to me!' said he, hallooing, 'Yor-geot, hounds!--yor-geot!'--which, being
interpreted, means, 'here again, hounds!--here again!'
'Oh, the conceited beggar!' exclaimed Mr. Watchorn to himself, as,
disappointed of his finish, he sat feeling his nose, mopping his face, and
watching the proceedings. 'Oh, the conceited beggar!' repeated he, adding,
'old 'hogany bouts is _ab_solutely a goin' to kest them.'
Cast them, however, he did, proceeding very cautiously in the direction the
hounds seemed to lean. They were on a piece of cold scenting ground, across
which they could hardly own the scent.
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