y course was a
straight hard run for it, trusting to our legs and our wind to pull us
through. So we settled down to the task with a will. Scarcely had we
emerged into the open ground for a couple of minutes, when we saw a
figure dash out of the lane in full cry after us.

It was Forwood, the whipper-in, a terrible "scud" across country, and he
was only fifty yards or so ahead of three others, also celebrated for
their pace. So we hares had our work cut out for us, and no mistake!

For a mile we ran as hard as we well could, turning neither to right nor
left, and halting neither at ditch nor dyke. Parkhurst Towers rose
before us in the distance, and more than one boy was already strolling
out in our direction to witness the finish.

How we wished we were as fresh as they!

"Put it on, hares!" shouted the first who met us, "you'll do it yet."

"Hounds are gaining!" cried the next we passed--a young urchin sitting
on a bank and eating toffee.

And now there met us not single spectators only, but groups, who cheered
loudly, backing, some the hares and some the hounds, till we hardly knew
where we were. Some even began to run along with us, at a respectful
distance, in order to be "in at the death."

The playground wall was now visible only half a mile away, on the other
side of the Gravelshire Canal, which had to be crossed by a bridge which
we were fast approaching.

I gave a rapid look back. Forwood was now only a hundred yards behind
us, with lots of running still in him. He would certainly run us down
in the next half-mile.

"Birch," I said, as I ran beside him, "are you good for a swim?"

"Rather!" he exclaimed; "if you are. Quick!"

We swerved suddenly in our course, and, to the amazement of all
spectators, left the bridge on our left. In another minute we were on
the margin of the canal, and the next moment the splash of a double
"header," and the shouts of the assembled onlookers, proclaimed that we
had made a plunge for it. The canal was only about thirty feet wide,
and we were across it in a twinkling, our light flannel clothes scarcely
interfering with our swimming, and certainly not adding much to the
weight we carried after being soaked through.

Three hundred yards now! Ah! that cheer behind means that Forwood has
followed our plunge. What are they laughing at, though? Can he have
foundered? No! Another shout! That means he is safe over, and hard at
our heels.

For the last thr