of us,
too, turn our eyes wistfully to that tent over yonder, where we know are
concealed the rewards of this day's combats; and in my secret heart I
find myself wondering more than once how it will sound to hear the names
"Adams and Slipshaw" called upon to receive the first prize for the
three-legged race.

Hark! There goes a bell, and we are really about to begin. "Number 1,
Junior 100 yards, for boys under 12," and 24 names entered! Slipshaw
and 1, both over 12, go off to have a look at "the kids," and a queer
sight it is. Of course, they can't all, 24 of them, run abreast, and so
they are being started in heats, six at a time. The first lot is just
starting. How eagerly they toe the line and look up at the starter!

"Are--" he begins, and two of them start, and have to be called back.
"Are you ready?" he says. Three of them are off now, and can't
understand that they are to wait for the word "Off!" But at last the
starter gets to the end of his speech and has them fairly off. The
little fellows go at it as if their lives depended on it. Their mothers
and big brothers are looking on, their "chums" are shouting to them
along the course, and the winning-post is not very far ahead. On they
go, but not in a level row. One has taken the lead, and the others
straggle behind him in a queer procession. It doesn't last long. Even
a Junior 100 yards must come to an end at last, and the winner runs,
puffing, into the judge's arms, half a dozen yards ahead of the next
boy, and 50 yards ahead of the last. The other three heats follow, and
then, amid great excitement, the final heat is run off, and the best man
wins.

For the Senior 100 yards which followed only three were entered, and
each of these had his band of confident admirers. Slipshaw and I were
very "sweet" on Jackson, who was monitor of our dormitory, and often
gave us the leavings of his muffins, but Ranger was a lighter-built
fellow, and seemed very active, while Bruce's long legs looked not at
all pleasant for his opponents. The starter had no trouble with them,
but it was no wonder they all three looked anxious as they turned their
faces to him; for in a 100 yards' race the start is everything, as poor
long-legged Bruce found out, for he slipped on the first spring, and
never recovered his lost ground. Between Ranger and Jackson the race
was a fine one to within twenty yards of home, when our favourite's
"fat" began to tell on him, and though