and nearly
capsized him.

You may laugh, reader, but it was no joke, that three-legged race. The
others ahead of us showed no signs of flagging; they were going hard,
one couple close at the heels of the other, and we a full five yards
behind. I was giving one despairing thought to the pots and prizes in
the tent, when a great roar of laughter almost made me forget which foot
to put forward.

What could it be?--and Slipshaw was laughing too!

"Steady, now," he said, "and come along!"

The laughter continued, and looking before me, I suddenly detected its
cause. The leading couple in a moment of over-confidence had attempted
to go too fast, and had come on their noses on the path, and the second
couple, too close behind them, had not had time to avoid the obstacle,
but had plunged headlong on to the top of them! It was all right now!
Slipshaw and I trotted triumphantly past the prostrate heap, and after
all won our prize! You may fancy I was too excited to think of much
else after that, except indeed the hurdle race, which was most exciting,
and won most cleverly by Catherall, who, though he came to grief at the
last hurdle, was able to pick himself up in time to rush in and win the
race by a neck from the new boy, whom we found to be almost as good at
jumping as he was at running.

Then followed a two-mile race--rather dull to watch--and with that the
sports were at an end.

Need I say how proudly Slipshaw and I marched up arm-in-arm to receive
the prize for our race, which consisted of a bat for me and a telescope
for my companion?--or how the new boy was cheered?--or how Shute and
Catherall were applauded?

Before I left Parkhurst I was an old hand at athletic sports, but I
don't think I ever thought any of them so interesting as the day on
which Slipshaw and I, with our legs tied together, came in first in the
three-legged race!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE SNEAK.

Sneak! It's an ugly name, but not ugly enough, believe me, for the
animal it describes.

Like his namesake, the snake, he may be a showy enough looking fellow at
first sight, he may have the knack of wriggling himself into your
acquaintance, and his rattle may amuse you for a time, but wait till he
turns and stings you!

I am at a loss how to describe in a few words what I--and, I expect,
most of us--mean when we talk of a sneak. He is a mixture of so many
detestable qualities. There is a large amount of cowardice in his
constitution,