The cry of hounds became more distinct--nearer and nearer they came, fuller and more melodious; but, alas! it was no music to Sponge.

Presently the cheering of hunters was heard--'FOR--_rard_! FOR--_rard_!' and anon the rate of a whip farther back.

Another second, and hounds, horses, and men were in view, streaming away over the large pasture on the left.
There was a high, straggling fence between Sponge and the field, thick enough to prevent their identifying him, but not sufficiently high to screen him altogether.

Sponge pulled round the piebald, and gathered himself together like a man going to be shot.

The hounds came tearing full cry to where he was; there was a breast-high scent, and every one seemed to have it.