Underneath, the hares huddled breathlessly and Florence Guile’s voice came down to them.
“It’s after five o’clock, really, I think we’d better give up.”
And Betty made answer:
“I suppose so, but it seems dreadful to be beaten by the new girls.”
“Hardly by the new girls,” laughed Louise, “beaten by that little Polly Pendleton. I don’t believe any of the rest could have done it.”
So proud were the triumphant hares under the bridge, that they didn’t even resent this remark.
“Who can call the loudest?” Louise continued. “Betty, you can tell them we give up, we’ll have
to go ’round the trail again till we find them.”
Betty walked dejectedly to the side of the bridge, pushed her flying hair from her face, put both hands to her mouth and taking a tremendous breath, yelled:
“Come in! Come in! We give up.”