Confound it, I wish the Harriers would choose some other run! A nice fix I'm in, to be sure--young rascals!" -- ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Late that evening a crowd assembled in the Quadrangle of Templeton.

The hunt had been in three hours ago, and all the hounds but three had turned up and gone to their kennels.

It was to welcome the remaining three that the crowd was assembled.

They had already been signalled from the beach, and the faint hum in the High Street told that they had already got into their last run.
Nearer and louder grew the sound, till the hum became a shout, and the shout a roar, as through the great gate of Templeton three small travel- stained figures trotted gamely into the Quad, with elbows down and heads up.
They hardly seemed to hear the cheers or notice the crowd, but kept their faces anxiously towards where Cresswell--book in hand--stood at the door of Westover's to receive them.
"Have you run right through ?" he asked as they came up.
"Yes, every step," gasped Dick.
Five minutes later, the "Firm" was in bed and fast asleep.
And two days later, when the revised list of candidates eligible for election to the "Select Sociables" was displayed on the library door, it included the names of Richardson, Heathcote, and Coote..