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 with its music even as he dictated it to his form. All this was another slight mistake in judgment: the man made a personal grievance of atrocities inevitably committed upon his favourite poets, and the boys conceived a not unreasonable prejudice against some of the noblest lyrics in the language. Carpenter was probably the only member of the form who not only revelled in the original lines, but rather enjoyed hunting up the Latin words, and found a positive satisfaction in fitting them into their proper places as dactyls and spondees.

"That's the finest thing he's set us yet," said Chips, when Haigh had given them Cory's "Heraclitus" for the last copy of the term.

"It'll be plucky fine when I've done with it," Jan rejoined grimly.

"I should start on it early, if I were you," said Chips, "like you did last week."

"And then get told you've had 'em done for you? Thanks awfully; you don't catch me at that game again. Between tea and prayers on Saturday night's good enough for me—if I'm not too done after the paper-chase."

"You're not going the paper-chase, Tiger?"

"I am if I'm not stopped." "When you're not even allowed to play football?"

"That's exactly why."

The paper-chase always took place on the last Saturday but one, and was quite one of the events of the winter term. All the morning, after second school, fags had been employed in tearing up scent in the library; and soon after dinner the road under Heriot's study windows began to resound with the tramp of boys on their way in twos and threes to see the start from Burston Beeches. A spell of hard weather had broken in sunshine and clear