Ill fares it now with our youngsters that they are School-house boys,
and so follow young Brooke, for he takes the wide casts round to the
left, conscious of his own powers, and loving the hard work. For if you
would consider for a moment, you small boys, you would remember that the
Cock, where the run ends, and the good ale will be going, lies far out
to the right on the Dunchurch road, so that every cast you take to the
left is so much extra work. And at this stage of the run, when the
evening is closing in already, no one remarks whether you run a little
cunning or not, so you should stick to those crafty hounds who keep
edging away to the right, and not follow a prodigal like young Brooke,
whose legs are twice as long as yours and of cast-iron, wholly
indifferent to two or three miles more or less. However, they struggle
after him, sobbing and plunging along, Tom and East pretty close, and
Tadpole, whose big head begins to pull him down, some thirty yards
behind.

Now comes a brook, with stiff clay banks, from which they can hardly
drag their legs, and they hear faint cries for help from the wretched
Tadpole, who has fairly stuck fast. But they have too little run left in
themselves to pull up for their own brothers. Three fields more, and
another check, and then "forward" called away to the extreme right.

The two boys' souls die within them; they can never do it. Young Brooke
thinks so too, and says kindly, "You'll cross a lane after next field,
keep down it, and you'll hit the Dunchurch road below the Cock," and
then steams away for the run in, in which he's sure to be first, as if
he were just starting. They struggle on across the next field, the
"forwards" getting fainter and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt
is out of ear-shot, and all hope of coming in is over.

"Hang it all!" broke out East, as soon as he had got wind enough,
pulling off his hat and mopping at his face, all spattered with dirt and
lined with sweat, from which went up a thick steam into the still cold
air. "I told you how it would be. What a thick I was to come! Here we
are dead beat, and yet I know we're close to the run in, if we knew the
country."

"Well," said Tom mopping away, and gulping down his disappointment, "it
can't be helped. We did our best anyhow. Hadn't we better find this
lane, and go down it, as young Brooke told us?"

"I suppose so--nothing else for it," grunted East. "If ever I go out
last day again," growl