r said, in a tone that defied contradiction. "A
delightful walk; just the thing for getting a little into condition."

There was a murmur of assent among the boys who had accompanied him, but
there was no great heartiness in the sound; for indeed Skinner had
pressed them all to a much higher rate of speed than was pleasant in
their ordinary clothes, although they would not have minded it in
flannels.

"You all look as if you had enjoyed it," Easton said, regarding them one
by one with an air of innocent approval; "warmed yourselves up a bit, I
should say. I remark a general disappearance of collars, and Rupert
Clinton's face is scratched as if he had been having a contest with some
old lady's cat."

"I went head-foremost into a hedge," Rupert laughed. "My foot slipped in
the mud just as I was taking off, and I took a regular header into it."

"And what is the matter with your hand, Wordsworth?"

"A beast of a dog bit me. We were going across a field, and the brute
came out from a farmhouse. My wind had gone, and I happened to be last
and he made at me. Some fool has written in a book that if you keep your
eyes fixed upon a dog he will never bite you. I fixed my eye on him like
a gimlet but it did not act, and he came right at me and sprang at me
and knocked me down and got my hand in his mouth, and I don't know what
would have happened if Skinner hadn't pulled a stick out of the hedge,
and rushed back and hit him such a lick across the back that he went off
yelping. Then the farmer let fly with a double-barrelled gun from his
garden; but luckily we were pretty well out of reach, though two or
three shots hit Scudamore on the cheek and ear and pretty nearly drew
blood. He wanted to go back to fight the farmer, but as the fellow would
have reloaded by the time he got there, and there was the dog into the
bargain, we lugged him off."

"Quite an adventurous afternoon," Easton said in a tone of cordial
admiration, which elicited a growl from Skinner.

"You wish you had been with us, don't you?" he said, with what was meant
to be a sneer.

"No, rackets was quite hard work enough for me; and I don't see much fun
in either taking a header into a hedge, being bitten by a farmer's dog,
or being peppered by the man himself. Still, no doubt these things are
pleasant for those who like them. What has become of Templar?"

"He fell into a ditch," Wordsworth said; "and he just was in a state. He
had to go up to the matron for