twenty or thirty dripping infants
out of the sea in the course of the day.

My sister's gardener, who carried the milk, is a venerable man with a
long white beard. He is greatly stooped from constant digging and he
suffers from rheumatism in his knees. It was his appearance, no doubt,
which suggested to Kitty the absolutely fiendish idea of an obstacle
race for veterans. The veterans, of course, were Miss Lane, the
gardener, the cook, who was a very fat woman, and myself. Miss Lane
agreed to the proposal at once with apparent pleasure, and the whole
fifty-six children shouted with joy. The gardener, who has known Kitty
since she was born, recognised the uselessness of protest and took his
place beside Miss Lane. The cook said she never ran races and could not
jump. Anyone who had looked at her would have known she was speaking the
truth. But Kitty would take no refusal. She took that cook by the arm
and dragged her to the starting line.

The course, which was arranged by Kitty, was a stiff one. It took us all
over the redoubts, castles, and trenches we had built during the day
and across a tract of particularly soft sand, difficult to walk over
and most exhausting to anyone who tried to run. It finished up with what
Kitty called a water jump, though no one could possibly have jumped it.
It was a wide shallow pool, formed in the sand by the flowing tide and
the only way of getting past it was to wade through.

I felt fairly confident I should win that race. The gardener is ten
years older than I am and very stiff in the joints. The cook plainly did
not mean to try. Miss Lane is far past the age at which women cease to
be active, and was badly handicapped by having to run in a long skirt.
I started at top speed and cleared the first redoubt without difficulty,
well ahead of anyone else. I kept my lead while I floundered through
three trenches, and increased it among the castles which lay beyond.
When I reached the soft sand I ventured to look back. I was gratified to
see that the cook had given up. The gardener was in difficulties at
the second trench, and Miss Lane had fallen. When I saw her she was
sprawling over a sand castle, surrounded by cheering children. It did
not seem likely that she would have strength enough to get up again or
breath to run any more if she did get on her feet. I felt that I was
justified in walking quietly over the soft sand. Beyond it lay a
tract of smooth, hard sand, near the sea, and the