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He now whipped and jagged the old nag, as if intent on catching the hounds. Mr. Sponge liberated his whip from the apron-straps, and lent a hand when Jog began to flag. So they rattled and jingled away at an amended pace. Still it seemed to Mr. Sponge as if they would never get there. Having passed through Tollarton, and cleared the village of Stewley, Mr.
Jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, whose finger-post directed the road 'to Tollarton. He seemed less disconcerted than Sponge, who kept inwardly anathematizing, not only 'Obin and Ichard, but 'Diddle, diddle, doubt' 'Bah, bah, black sheep' the whole tribe of nursery ballads, in short.
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