n the water jump. My
supporters, a number of children who had easily kept pace with me and
were encouraging me with shouts, seemed disappointed when I dropped to a
walk. To please them I broke into a gentle trot when I reached the hard
sand. I still felt perfectly sure that the race was mine.

I was startled out of my confidence by the sound of terrific yells, just
as I stepped cautiously into the water jump. I looked round and saw Miss
Lane. Her hair was flying behind her in a wild tangle. Her petticoats
were gathered well above her knees. She was crossing the hard sand at a
tremendous pace. I saw that my only chance was to collect my remaining
energies for a spurt. Before I had made the attempt Miss Lane was past
me. She jumped a clear eight feet into the shallow water in which I
stood and came down with a splash which nearly blinded me with spray.
I rubbed the salt water out of my eyes and started forward. It was too
late. Miss Lane was ten or twelve yards ahead of me. She was splashing
through the water quicker than I should have believed possible. She
stumbled, and once I thought she was down, but she did not actually fall
until she flung herself, breathless, at Kitty's feet, at the winning
post.

The children shrieked with joy, and Kitty said she was very glad I had
been beaten.

I did not understand at the time why she was glad, but I found out
afterwards. I was stiff and tired that evening but rather proud of
myself. I had done something to be proud of. I had spent a whole day in
showing kindness--I suppose it really was kindness--to those whose lot
on other days is worse than my own; and that, as Kitty says, is a noble
thing to do. I was not, however, left in peace to enjoy my pleasant mood
of self-congratulation. I had just lit my cigar and settled comfortably
in the verandah when Kitty came to me.

"I suppose you know," she said, "that there was a prize for that
veterans' race this afternoon."

"No," I said, "I didn't know, but I'm glad to hear it. I hope Miss Lane
will enjoy the prize. She certainly deserves it."

"The prize," said Kitty, "is----"

To my surprise she mentioned a sum of money, quite a large sum.

"--To be paid," said Kitty, "by the losers, and to go to the funds of
Miss Lane's Society for giving pleasure to poor children. The gardener
and cook can't pay, of course, being poor themselves. So you'll have to
pay it all."

"I haven't the money in my pocket," I said. "Will it do if I se