un with their heads down and their fists up, at the rate of
seven miles an hour.

"By George," thought he to himself, "some of those Templeton kids go the
pace."

The pleasant village of Grandcourt was startled that evening, as the
shades of night fell, by the sight of two small boys trotting hard down
the High Street, side by side, some three hundred yards in advance of
the coach which carried the conquering heroes of Templeton; like eastern
couriers who run before the chaise of the great man. But those two
heeded neither looks nor jeers; their ears were deaf to the cry of "Stop
thief," and shouts of "Two to one on Sandy," stirred no emotions in
their fluttering breasts. Luckily for them the road began uphill, so
they were able to get a fair start by the time the village was clear.
When at last they pulled up breathless at the road-side, they could see
the lamp of the coach a quarter of a mile down the road, advancing
slowly.

"It's touch and go," said Heathcote, "if we do it without getting
nabbed. That wretched light shows up everything."

"Yes, I don't like it," said Dick; "we'd better lie down in the ditch,
Georgie, till it's got past. They'll trot as soon as they get up here
on to the level, and we must make a shot at the step. Those fellows
inside are sure not to be looking out."

It was an anxious few minutes as the light approached, and shot its rays
over the prostrate bodies of the boys in the ditch. They dared not lift
their faces as it passed, and it was only when, as Dick had predicted,
the walk changed into a trot, that they started from their lurking-
place, and gave chase.

"Why," groaned Heathcote, as they came up, "it's got no step!"

For once, Dick was gravelled. The idea that the coach was not like all
the other coaches had never once crossed his mind; and he felt beaten.
The two unhappy pursuers, however, kept up the chase, pawing the
forbidding coach door, very much as kittens paw the outside of a gold-
fish bowl.

Alas! there was nothing to lay hold of; not even a handle or a nail!

"Shall we yell?" gasped Heathcote, nearly at the end of his wind.

"Wait a bit. Is there anything underneath we could lay hold of?"

They groped, but, as it seemed, fruitlessly. Dick, however, stooped
again, and next moment turned round radiant.

"There's a bit of string," said he. "Keep it up, old man, and we'll get
hold of it."

With much diving he succeeded in picking up the end of a casual