down a large pasture studded with old thorns, which slopes down to the first brook. The brook is a small one, and the scent lies right ahead up the opposite slope, and as thick as ever, not a turn or a check to favor the tail hounds, who strain on, now trailing in a long line, many a youngster beginning to drag his legs heavily, and feel his heart beat like a hammer.

Tom, East, and Taylor had a good start, and are well up for such young lads, and after rising the slope and crossing the next field, find themselves up with the leading hounds, who have overrun the scent and are coming back. They have come a mile and a half in eleven minutes, a pace which shows that it is the last day. About twenty-five of the original starters are left, the rest having already given in; the leaders are busy making casts into the fields on the left and right, and the others are trying to catch their breath.

Then comes the cry of "forward" again, from young Brooke, from the extreme left, and the pack settles down to work again, the whole keeping pretty well together.

The scent, though still good, is not so thick, there is no need of that, for in this part of the run every one knows the line which must be taken, and so there are no casts to be made, but good downright running and fence climbing to be done. All who are now in the pack mean to be in at the finish, and they come to the foot of Barby Hill without losing more than two or three more of the pack.

This last straight two miles and a half is always a vantage ground for the hounds, and the hares know it well; they are generally viewed on the side of Barby Hill, and all eyes are on the lookout for them to-day. But not a sign. of them appears, so now will be the hard work for the hounds; and there is nothing for it but to cast about for the scent, for it is now the hares' turn, and they may baffle the pack in the next two miles.

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 Taylor, who has stuck fast. But they have too little run left in themselves to wait even for their own brothers. Three fields more, and another check, and then "forward" called away to the extreme right.

The courage of the two boys dies within them; they can never do it. Young Brooke thinks so, too, and says kindly, "You'll cross a lane after the next field, follow it, and you'll reach the Dunchurch road below the Inn," and then he hurries away for the run in, as fresh as if he were just starting.

The lads struggle on across the next field, the "forwards" getting fainter and fainter, and then ceasing. The whole hunt is out of earshot, and all hope of coming in is over.

"I told you how it would be," broke out East, as soon as he had got breath enough. "What a goose I was to

come. Here we are, tired out, and yet I know we are close to the run in, if we knew the country."

66

Well," said Tom, gulping down his disappointment, "it can't be helped. We did our best, anyway. Hadn't we better find the lane as young Brooke told us?"

"I suppose so nothing else for it," said East.

So they walked back slowly and sorrowfully, and found the lane, and went limping down it, splashing in the pools of muddy water, and beginning to feel how the run had tired them. The evening closed in fast and clouded over, dark and cold and dreary.

"It must be locking-up time, I should think," remarked East, breaking the silence; "it's so dark."

"What if we are late?" said Tom.

“No tea, and sent up to the doctor," answered East. The thought did not add to their cheerfulness. Presently a faint halloo was heard from an adjoining field. They answered it and stopped, hoping for some one to guide them, when over a gate, some twenty yards away, crawled the wretched Taylor in a state of collapse; he had lost a shoe in the brook, and been groping after it up to his elbows in the stiff wet clay, and a more miserable creature in the shape of a boy has seldom been seen.

The sight of him, however, cheered Tom and his friend, for he was several degrees more wretched than they. They also cheered him, as he was now no longer under the dread of passing the night alone in the fields. And

so in better heart, the three splashed painfully down the never ending lane. At last it widened, just as utter darkness set on, and they came out on a turnpike road, and there paused bewildered, for they had lost their way, and knew not whether to turn to the right or the left.

Luckily for them they did not have to decide, for lumbering along the road, with one lamp lighted, and two old horses in the shafts, came a heavy coach, which after a moment's suspense they recognized as the Oxford coach, the redoubtable Pig and Whistle.

It lumbered slowly up, and the boys, mustering their last run, caught it as it passed, and began scrambling up ́ behind, in which exploit East missed his footing and fell flat on his nose along the road. Then the others hailed the coachman, who pulled up his horses and agreed to take them in for a shilling. So there they sat in the back seat, drumming with their heels, and their teeth chattering with cold, and jogged into Rugby about forty minutes. after time for locking up.

Five minutes later, three small, limping, shivering figures steal along through the doctor's garden, and into the house by the back door, where the first thing they come upon in the passage is old Thomas, ambling along, candle in one hand and keys in the other.

He stops and examines their condition with a grim smile. "Ah, East, Taylor, and Brown, late for locking up. Must go up to the doctor's study at once."