'Hark! there's the horn!' exclaimed Sponge, rushing to the window.
'So there is,' responded Jack, standing transfixed on one leg to the spot.
'By the powers, they're away!' exclaimed Sponge, as his lordship was seen hat in hand careering over the meadow, beyond the cover, with the tail hounds straining to overtake their flying comrades. Twang—twang—twang went Frostyface's horn; crack—crack—crack went the ponderous thongs of the whips; shouts, and yells, and yelps, and whoops, and halloas, proclaimed the usual wild excitement of this privileged period of the chase. All was joy save among the gourmands assembled at the door—they looked blank indeed.
'What a sell!' exclaimed Sponge, in disgust, who, with Jack, saw the hopelessness of the case.
'Yonder he goes!' exclaimed a lad, who had run up from the cover to see the hunt from the rising ground.
'Where?' exclaimed Sponge, straining his eyeballs.
'There!' said the lad, pointing due south. 'D'ye see Tommy Claychop's pasture? Now he's through the hedge and into Mrs. Starveland's turnip field, making right for Bramblebrake Wood on the hill.'
'So he is,' said Sponge, who now caught sight of the fox emerging from the turnips on to a grass field beyond.
Jack stood staring through his great spectacles, without deigning a word.
'What shall we do?' asked Sponge.