A pause ensued, and then I started a running match. Fritz, Ernest, and Jack were to run to Falconhurst, by the most direct path. The first to reach the tree was to bring me, in proof of his success, a penknife I had accidentally left on the table in my sleeping room. At a given signal, away went the racers in fine style. Fritz and Jack, putting forth all their powers, took the lead at once, running in advance of Ernest, who started at a good, steady pace, which I predicted he would be better able to maintain than such a furious rate as his brothers. But long before we expected to see them back, a tremendous noise of galloping caused us to look with surprise toward the bridge, and Jack made his appearance, thundering along on his buffalo, with the onager and the donkey tearing after him riderless, and the whole party in the wildest spirits. "Hullo!" cried I, "what sort of footrace do you call this, Master Jack?" He shouted merrily as he dashed up to us; then flinging himself off and saluting us in a playful way: "I very soon saw," said he, "that I hadn't a chance; so renouncing all idea of the prize, I caught Storm, and made him gallop home with me, to be in time to see the others come puffing in. Lightfoot and old Grizzle chose to join me--I never invited them!" By and by the other boys arrived, Ernest holding up the knife in token of being the winner; and after hearing all particulars about the running, and that he had reached Falconhurst two minutes before Fritz, we proceeded to test the climbing powers of the youthful athletes. In this exercise Jack performed wonders. He ascended with remarkable agility the highest palms whose stems he could clasp. And when he put on his shark-skin buskins, which enabled him to take firm hold of larger trees, he played antics like a squirrel or a monkey, peeping and grinning at us, at first on one side of the stem, and then on the other, in a most diverting way. Fritz and Ernest climbed well, but could not come near the grace and skill of their active and lively young brother. Riding followed, and marvelous feats were performed, Fritz and Jack proving themselves very equal in their management of their different steeds. I thought the riding was over, when little Franz appeared from the stable in the cave, leading young Grumble, the bull-calf, with a neat saddle of kangaroo hide, and a bridle passed through his nose ring. The child saluted us with a pretty little air of confidence, exclaiming: "Now, most learned judges, prepare to see something quite new and wonderful! The great bull-tamer, Milo of Cortona, desires the honor of exhibiting before you." Then taking a whip and holding the end of a long cord, he made the animal, at the word of command, walk, trot, and gallop in a circle round him. He afterward mounted, and showed off Grumble's somewhat awkward paces.