Such time as these sportsmen could now spare from looking out ahead was devoted to Sponge, whom they eyed with the utmost astonishment, as if he had dropped from the clouds.
A stranger--a real out-and-out stranger--had not visited their remote regions since the days of poor Nimrod.

'Who could it be ?' But 'the pace,' as Nimrod used to say, 'was too good to inquire.' A little farther on, and Sponge drew upon the great guns of the hunt--the men who ride _to_ hounds, and not _after_ them; the same who had criticized him through the fence--Mr.Wake, Mr.Fossick, Parson Blossomnose, Mr.Fyle, Lord Scamperdale, Jack himself, and others.

Great was their astonishment at the apparition, and incoherent the observations they dropped as they galloped on.
'It isn't Wash, after all,' whispered Fyle into Blossomnose's ear, as they rode through a gate together.
'No-o-o,' replied the nose, eyeing Sponge intently.
'What a coat!' whispered one.
'Jacket,' replied the other.
'Lost his brush,' observed a third, winking at Sponge's docked tail.
'He's going to ride over us all,' snapped Mr.Fossick, whom Sponge passed at a hand-canter, as the former was blobbing and floundering about the deep ruts leading out of a turnip-field.
'He'll catch it just now,' said Mr.Wake, eyeing Sponge drawing upon his lordship and Jack, as they led the field as usual.

Jack being at a respectful distance behind his great patron, espied Sponge first; and having taken a good stare at him through his formidable spectacles, to satisfy himself that it was nobody he knew--a stare that Sponge returned as well as a man without spectacles can return the stare of one with--Jack spurred his horse up to his lordship, and rising in his stirrups, shot into his ear-- 'Why, here's the man on the cow!' adding, 'it isn't Washey.' 'Who the deuce is it then ?' asked his lordship, looking over his left shoulder, as he kept galloping on in the wake of his huntsman.
'Don't know,' replied Jack; 'never saw him before.' 'Nor I,' said his lordship, with an air as much as to say, 'It makes no matter.' His lordship, though well mounted, was not exactly on the sort of horse for the country they were in; while Mr.Sponge, in addition to being on the very animal for it, had the advantage of the horse having gone the first part of the run without a rider: so Multum in Parvo, whether Mr.Sponge wished it or not, insisted on being as far forward as he could get.

The more Sponge pulled and hauled, the more determined the horse was; till, having thrown both Jack and his lordship in the rear, he made for old Frostyface, the huntsman, who was riding well up to the still-flying pack.
'HOLD HARD, sir! For God's sake, hold hard!' screamed Frosty, who knew by intuition there was a horse behind, as well as he knew there was a man shooting in front, who, in all probability, had headed the fox.
'HOLD HARD, sir!' roared he, as, yawning and boring and shaking his head, Parvo dashed through the now yelping scattered pack, making straight for a stiff new gate, which he smashed through, just as a circus pony smashes through a paper hoop.
'Hoo-ray!' shouted Jack Spraggon, on seeing the hounds were safe.