Over another hedge, and they were in a sunken roadway.

Then came the end.

Mugford staggered over to the opposite bank, and falling down upon it with his hand pressed to his side, gasped out, "Awful stitch--can't go any further!" Years afterwards, when the Triple Alliance met at an Old Boys' dinner, they laughed heartily in talking over this adventure; but there were no signs of mirth on any of their faces at the time it was happening.
Then as Jack Vance and Diggory stood staring blankly at each other in the deepening winter twilight, they suddenly blossomed out into heroes-- heroes, it is true, in flannel cricket-caps and turned-down collars, but heroes, at all events to my mind, as genuine in the spirit which prompted their action as those whose deeds are known in song and story.
The barking of a dog in the field above showed that the keeper was following up their trail.
"Bun for it!" panted Mugford; "don't wait for me!" "Shan't!" said Jack and Diggory in one voice; and the latter, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, began to whistle.
"Go on!" cried Mugford.
"Shan't!" repeated his companions.
It was evident that the Triple Alliance would sink or swim together, and it so happened that by a piece of unexpected good fortune they were destined to realize the latter alternative.

There was a clatter of wheels, the quick stamp of a fast-trotting horse, and a baker's cart came swinging round the corner.

Diggory, whose wits never seemed to desert him at a critical moment, recognized it at once as belonging to the man who supplied the school, and springing forward he beckoned to the driver to stop, crying,-- "I say, give us a lift into Ronleigh, and we'll pay you a shilling.
We belong to the college." The man peered round the canvas covering, and at once recognized the boys' cap and crest.
"All right," he said.