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Sponge, not being much of a drinker, was more overcome with what he had taken than a seasoned cask would have been; added to which the keen night air striking upon his heated frame soon sent the liquor into his head. He began to feel queer. 'Well, said he to his host, 'I think I'd better be going. 'Where are you bound for? asked Mr. Peastraw. 'To Puddingpote Bower, replied Mr. Sponge.
Sponge, staggering in the direction of the stable in which he put his horse. The house clock then struck ten. 'She's fast, observed Mr. Peastraw, fearing his guest might be wanting to stay all night. 'How far will Puddingpote Bower be from here? asked Mr. Sponge. 'Oh, no distance, sir, no distance, replied Mr. Peastraw, now leading out the horse. 'Can't miss your way, sir can't miss your way.
'S-o-o, observed Mr. Peastraw thoughtfully; 'Mr. Crowdey's Mr. Jogglebury that was? 'Yes, replied Mr. Sponge. 'He is a deuce of a man, that, for breaking people's hedges, observed Mr. Peastraw; after a pause, 'he can't see a straight stick of no sort, but he's sure to be at it. 'He's a great man for walking-sticks, replied Mr.
Peastraw, who stood beside him, listening to the shrill notes of the horn dying out in the distance. 'No, replied Mr. Sponge. 'Rummy lot, observed Mr. Peastraw, with a shake of the head. 'Are they? asked Mr. Sponge. 'Very! replied Mr. Peastraw. 'Be the death of Sir Harry among 'em. 'Who are they all? asked Mr. Sponge.
'Rubbish! replied Peastraw with a sneer, diving his hands into the depths of his pockets. 'Well, we'd better go in, added he, pulling his hands out and rubbing them, to betoken that he felt cold. Mr.
Roby's farm, at Runton you'll know Mr. Roby? 'Not I, replied Mr. Sponge, hoisting himself into the saddle, and holding out a hand to take leave of his host. 'Good night, sir; good night! exclaimed Mr. Peastraw, shaking it; 'and have the goodness to tell Mr. Crowdey from me that the next time he comes here a bush-rangin', I'll thank him to shut the gates after him.
Sir Harry! cried Bob Spangles, into his brother-in-law's ear, but Sir Harry was too far gone; he could not 'come to time. Presently a footman entered with furred coats, and shawls, and checkered rugs, in which those who were sufficiently sober enveloped themselves, and those who were too far gone were huddled by Peastraw and the man; and amid much hurry and confusion, and jostling for inside seats, the party freighted the coach, and whisked away before Mr.
'Pea Peastraw was the name, replied Mr. Sponge. 'I know him, said Jog; 'Peastraw of Stoke. 'Ah, he said he knew you. replied Mr. Sponge. 'Did he? asked Jog eagerly. 'What did he say?
To prevent this Lord Nairne and 600 Perthshire men were sent to guard the road to Edinburgh. Seeing that nothing more could be done that night, both armies settled down to rest; General Cope lay in comfort at Cockenzie, Prince Charles on the field; a bundle of peastraw served for his pillow; a long white cloak thrown over his plaid for a covering.
'This way, sir; this way, said the burly Mr. Peastraw, leading the way into his farmyard, where a line of hunters stood shivering under a long cart-shed. 'But I can't put my horse in here, observed Mr. Sponge, looking at the unfortunate brutes. 'No, sir, no, replied Mr. Peastraw; 'put yours in a stable, sir; put yours in a stable'; adding, 'these young gents don't care much about their horses.
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