He thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were now approaching; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted.

'These horses have done nothing to-day,' he said; 'why shouldn't I send the chestnut on for to-morrow ?' 'Do you know where the cross-roads are ?' he asked his groom.
'Cross-roads, cross-roads--what cross-roads ?' replied Leather.
'Where the hounds meet to-morrow.' 'Oh, the cross-roads at Somethin' Burn,' rejoined Leather thoughtfully--'no, 'deed, I don't,' he added.

'From all 'counts, they seem to be somewhere on the far side of the world.' That was not a very encouraging answer; and feeling it would require a good deal of persuasion to induce Mr.Leather to go in search of them without clothing and the necessary requirements for his horses, Mr.Sponge went trotting on, in hopes of seeing some place where he might get a sight of the map of the county.

So they proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn of the road brought them to the spire and housetops of the little agricultural town of Barleyboll.

It differed nothing from the ordinary run of small towns.