"Our only chance is to get ahead of them, and pick them up on the road." Scarcely any one noticed the two dismayed little Templetonians, as they squeezed out of the gate, with their caps drawn over their eyes, and their heads diligently turned away from the coach of the Eleven.

One fellow, however, spotted them, and scared the wits out of them, by saying "Hallo! here are two youngsters left behind.

Get inside this coach; there's lots of room.

Look alive, they're starting." "Oh, thanks!" said Dick, scarcely able to speak for the jumping of his heart, "we're going to do a trot the first mile or so.

Thanks awfully! Good-bye." And to the amazement of the Grandcourtier, the small pair started to run with their heads down and their fists up, at the rate of seven miles an hour.
"By George," thought he to himself, "some of those Templeton kids go the pace." The pleasant village of Grandcourt was startled that evening, as the shades of night fell, by the sight of two small boys trotting hard down the High Street, side by side, some three hundred yards in advance of the coach which carried the conquering heroes of Templeton; like eastern couriers who run before the chaise of the great man.