From the garden door the line led across the road and on to a track skirting the railway.  This piece was taken at a brisk pace, the scent being breast-high.  A sheet might have covered the whole pack.  Then came a hairpin turn over the level crossing, a swing to the right and a steady trudge up the hill.  Half-way up there were gates to the right and the left, and here the blown but wary hare had laid his first false trail.  This unsuspected device roused the utmost indignation, and doubts were freely expressed as to its being legitimate.  John was sent to the right to investigate; Peggy went off to the left, which proved to be the true trail, and in a very short time the dauntless five were once more in full cry.  Rosie, who is a reader of books, afterwards said that no sleuth-hounds could have done the thing better.  So by paths and ploughed fields and over gates and stiles the dreadful chase continued until there came another check.  “These,” said Helen, pointing to some pieces of paper, “are not newspaper.  They are bits of letters.”  It was too true. The Timeses and The Daily Newses had given out, and the hare, omitting nothing that might lead to his destruction, had torn up all his available correspondence.  It threw the pack out for a few minutes, but they rallied.  In another hundred-and-fifty yards they ran into their hare, who, paperless and letterless, had taken refuge behind a tree and was ignominiously hauled out.

So ended our great Christmas paper-chase, an event which must remain justly celebrated both for the ardour with which it was undertaken and for the endurance with which it was pursued.  What a chatter there was as we returned, what a narration of glorious incidents of pace, of skill and of cunning defeated by greater cunning.  Falls there had been and shin-scrapes and the tearing of skirts and stockings, and legends were made up and told again and again.  And at home the lady of the house had to hear it all once more, and the tea she gave us was voted the best in the world.

* * * * *

Copy of letter to Clerk of the Peace in reply to Jury Summons:—­

    DEAR SIR, Your to hand re Sumons to Quarter Sessions on
    Jany 9/14

I beg to be excused from this as I have ann absess forming
under a bad tooth and at the present time my face is very much
swollen.

further that the 9th being a red letter day in my life being
the day on which my dear wife passed away

and I have understood that all those over 60 year of age was
exempt from these things.  So I shall be extreemly obligid if
you could free me this time answer by bearer will oblig

          
                                                                      your respectfully

* * * * *

[Illustration:  AFTER A BAD DAY’S GOLF.

“HERE WE ARE AGAIN.”]