HARE AND HOUNDS.
The only incident worth recording here, however, was his first run at Hare and Hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year, he was passing through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts from Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long tables, the chorus of which was "Come and help us tear up scent."
Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, always ready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers, copy-books, and magazines into small pieces, with which they were filling four large canvas bags.
"It's the turn of our house to find scent for big-side Hare and Hounds," exclaimed Tadpole; "tear away, there's no time to lose before calling-over."
"I think it's a great shame," said another small boy, "to have such a hard run for the last day."
"Which run is it?" cried Tadpole.
"Oh, the Barby run, I hear," answered the other; "nine miles at least, and hard ground; no chance of getting in at the finish, unless you're a first-rate scud."
"Well, I'm going to have a try," said Tadpole; "it's the last run of the half."
"I should like to try, too," said Tom.