“The hare?” I said.  “What hare?”

“You,” said the lady of the house cheerfully, “are to be the hare.  You are to run till you are cooked, and then you will be caught.”

“What madness is this?” I said.

“It’s not madness a bit,” said Helen indignantly.  “It’s a paper-chase.”

“And I,” said Rosie, “have torn up all The Timeses.”

“And I,” said John, who is not always sure of his tenses, though he is very voluble, “have tored up The Daily Newses.”

“That’s capital,” I said with enthusiasm.  “A paper-chase is the best fun in the world.  I’ll see you start and give you a cheer.”

“You can’t do that,” said Helen firmly, “because we’ve settled that you’re to carry the bag and be the hare.”

“Come, come,” I said, “this is an unworthy proposal.  Would you chase your more than middle-aged father over the open country?  Never.  How could he look the village in the face if he were to be seen scattering little bits of paper from a linen bag?  He would fall in their estimation and would drag you all with him in his fall.  John,” I said, “you would not have your father fall, would you?”

“It would make me laugh,” said John, and the rest seemed to think that this callous remark settled the matter.

“Anyhow,” I said, “I must have plenty of law.”

“We won’t have any law,” said Helen, who is an intelligent child; “it’s all quarrellings.”

“Law,” I said, “is the embodiment of human wisdom.  In this case it means that I’m going to have ten minutes’ start.  Everyone of you must pledge his or her honour not to move until I’ve been gone ten minutes.”

They made no difficulty about this, and, the lady of the house having appointed herself time-keeper and having promised to have a large tea ready for us when we returned, I was sent on my way with a bag of paper and many shrill shouts of encouragement.

Now I ask my colleagues in the parental business to consider my case.  I daresay they fancy themselves as runners on the strength of their remembered boyish feats and of certain more recent runs when they have lingered too long over breakfast and have had to catch a train.  I warn them not to build a paper-chase on so slender a foundation.  A jog-trot seems the easiest thing in the world, but after two hundred yards the temptation to lapse into a walk becomes irresistible.  I will dwell no further on my own experiences, but transfer myself in imagination to the hounds who were chasing me.  Afterwards I heard so much of their exploits that I almost came to feel I had shared in their daring and been a party to their final success.