graceful gems
as the wood anemone, or the wild hyacinth, or the wood sorrel, or
primroses and cowslips. I feel that I could not restore one of the
hundreds my careless feet have injured, even if my life depended on it."

"The same sort of idea has crossed my mind, I own," replied Ernest; "but
then I bethought me, that they have been given in such rich profusion
that, although hundreds or thousands may fall victims to our careless
steps, as you remark, thousands and tens of thousands remain to show the
glory of God's works, and that year after year they come back to us as
plentiful and lovely as ever. But I say, old fellow, it won't do to
stop and philosophise. We are hares for the nonce, remember, and the
hounds are in hot chase after us. By the by, _apropos_ to the subject,
I remember reading a capital Irish story of Lover's, which made me laugh
very much. For some reason or other, a fox walks into the cottage of a
keeper, who is absent, and sits down on a chair before the fire, putting
his feet on the fender, and taking up a newspaper, resolved to make
himself comfortable. `A newspaper?' exclaimed the Irishman to whom the
story is being narrated. `What did he want with that?' `Faith! how
else could he tell where the hounds were going to meet in the morning?'
is the answer."

Buttar laughed heartily at Ernest's anecdote.

"Do you know that I cannot help feeling sometimes, as I am running
along, as if I were really and truly a two-legged hare," observed the
latter.

"Well, so do I," replied Buttar. "And when I have been doing a hound, I
have so completely fancied myself one, as I have been scrambling through
hedges and ditches, that I have felt more inclined to bark than to
speak, and should certainly have claimed fellowship with a harrier had I
encountered one."

"However that may be, as I do not feel inclined to sup on grass or raw
cabbage, and should much rather prefer a good round of beef and some
bread and cheese, let us now take the shortest cut home," observed
Ernest, who was getting hungry.

"Agreed! agreed!" cried Buttar. "I don't think, though, that the hounds
can be far behind us. It's my belief, when they come in, that they'll
all declare they never have had such a day's run since they came to
school."

The huntsman, and whipper-in, and hounds were left on the ledge of rock,
looking out for a way by which to reach the bottom of the cliff. At
last Tom Bouldon espied a bit of paper stickin