The two Simms and a few adventurous spirits follow in the wake of the lads, while the rest of the field follow the Master to the bridge. As the hounds plunge in Tom gallops off for the same goal, saying: "This way, young gents, this way." He might as well have spared his breath, for Eton is not going to be beaten by Harrow, nor Winchester by Rugby, nor Clifton by any of them, and the rivals feel the honour of their schools to be at stake. Harold again heads the charge, and the young 'un makes a gallant effort, just getting his fore-legs on the opposite bank. Quick as thought the boy is over his head on _terra firma_, while the gray falls back into the brook. "Bravo," shout the rest of the field, "bravo!" and, as his horse scrambles out, Harold's heart swells with pride, and he says to his brother: "The dear old school bested them all." Harrow, Rugby, Winchester, and Clifton, all go at it in a lump, and all four are splashing about together, when little Phillips, a lad of twelve, who has just completed his first half, at Marlborough, comes down, and handling his rat of a pony down the bank, the pair swim across, and out the other side they scramble, the urchin shouting at the top of his voice: "Hooray, Eton first, Marlborough second." All, happily, manage, contrary to Tom's expectations, to escape being "drownded;" and, wet as they are, ride harder than ever to make up their "leeway." About a mile farther on the fox is viewed heading straight for Braby Main Earths, where he goes to ground with the pack close at his brush. Then paternal authority asserts itself, and the dripping schoolboys are promptly ordered home. They plead hard to stay, but paterfamilias is firm, and the lads turn to go with a last wistful look at Tom and the hounds. It is late in the afternoon, and they have had a right down good gallop, thinks Sir John; so turning to the field he says: "Gentlemen, I shall send the hounds home. We will call this the schoolboys' day, and I am sure after the way they have ridden it would be a shame to go on without them." THE BOASTER. If one could only believe one quarter of the strange adventures, hairbreadth escapes, and marvellous performances in the field of which Mr. Story says he has been the hero, one might well set him down as a wonderful Nimrod. But, unfortunately, veracity does not form part of his character. He is good-natured, generous, hospitable, and amusing, yet one of the most confirmed liars in the country.