buzzing crowds, a lark carolled its sweet song.

The friends were in ample time; but at last the excitement here and
there announced the coming of the horses, and one by one the sleek,
fleet creatures made their appearance to give the customary canter down
the field, and then be gathered together for the start.

At last a low, dull, murmurous buzz runs through the crowd. They are
off--nearly all together. The first hedge--only a preparation for
troubles to come--and the horses going easily over a ploughed piece, the
young and ardent jockeys pushing to the front, the old stagers waiting
their opportunity.

Another hedge. A refusal. One--two--four--six--nine over somehow or
another, and one down.

Then a loud cheer, by no means pleasant for the fallen man; and "for the
fun of the thing," as he said, Trevor began to back the grey mare known
as White Lassie.

"How can you be so foolish?" said Pratt.

"So," said Trevor, laughing; and he doubled his stakes with another.

"I believe we should be better off there on the knoll," said Pratt,
pointing to the spot where the barouche was standing hemmed in by the
crowd.

And acting upon the suggestion, the two friends quitted the low,
temporary stand, and managed to get a pretty good position on the little
eminence, where they could see right down the valley with the horses
running along its slope.

But Pratt saw more than this; he noted that they were within half a
dozen yards of the barouche where the ladies were standing on the seats,
with eyes sparkling and parted lips, whilst close at hand were Barney,
of the omnibus, and a couple of his intimates, demonstrative in their
comments upon the race.

Of the eleven horses that started, four had, in hunting parlance, come
to grief; and now of the others only five seemed to be in the race.

"Twenty pounds fooled away, Dick," said Pratt, in a whisper, as they now
made out, the last of the five, the white cap and pale blue shirt of the
rider of White Lassie.

"Be quiet, raven," was the calm reply; "the race is not won yet. Look
at that."

_That_ was the downfall of the leading horse at the next fence, the poor
beast literally turning a somersault, and then getting up to stand
shaking itself, as the other competitors got safely over; White Lassie,
still last clearing the obstacle with ease.

"Now comes the tug of war," said Trevor; and all eyes were strained in
the direction now taken by the horses towards a tolera