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"Who's for a jolly good game of hare and hounds?" exclaimed Tom Bouldon, rushing into the play-room, where a number of boys were assembled, soon after breakfast, on a lovely day during the Easter holidays. Nearly everybody replied, "I am, I, I, I." "That's right; we couldn't have finer weather, and it's sure to last.
Bouldon ran off, and immediately several of his side changed their places. "Ah! that boy was born to become a general," observed Monsieur Malin, who was looking on at the game with deep interest. The opposite side were rather astonished. They were not accustomed to so systematic a way of playing, still less to see directions issued by one boy so implicitly obeyed by others.
Bouldon had, meantime, recognised Blackall's handwriting, and having a considerable amount of contempt for those whose signatures were attached, he exhibited it in an unmistakable, though certainly an unrefined manner, by holding up the paper, and spitting into the middle of it. Then he folded it up, and crammed it into Dawson's pocket.
He could not, nor did he wish to refuse it. He consulted Buttar, who of course agreed to be on his side, whom they should select. They asked Bouldon, and Gregson, and several others among their immediate friends, and then began to pick out others on whom they could depend, and who generally played with them. Neither of them mentioned Ellis.
The greater part of the day was consumed in preparations for the hunt. Everybody engaged looked out their easiest shoes, and their thickest worsted socks. Still a huntsman and a whipper-in were to be chosen: Buttar proposed asking Lemon, and Bouldon seconded the motion. But then it was suggested, that Ernest had consulted him as to the course he should pursue. One or two cried out for Blackall.
"Oh, I envy you!" exclaimed Bouldon, "for I know that you will get on; and I wish you may, that you may come back again safe and sound to old England." "Oh, I must not think of coming back for years, I fear," answered Ernest. "The less one calculates in that way the better. I suspect that people are too apt to neglect the present when they allow their thoughts to dwell too much on the future.
There was a picture of a big ugly boy daubed in the commonest ochre, and bearing evident marks of its toy-shop origin, though Tommy Bouldon and others declared that they recognised in it a strong likeness to Blackall himself. Blackall seemed to think that some trick had been played him, though it was very clear that the likeness was accidental.
Bouldon was very nearly catching Buttar, when Ernest darted out to his rescue. Now, Tommy, you must put your best leg foremost or you will be caught to a certainty. What twisting and turning, what dodging there was. Now Bouldon had almost caught up Buttar, but the latter, stooping down, was off again under his very hands, and turning suddenly, was off once more behind his back.
This he at last succeeded in doing, and Tommy and his hoop were sent into prison, and as no one was at the base, there he had every chance of remaining some time. Meantime, Ernest rushed to the base, to be ready to capture any one who might get back on the opposite side and endeavour to rescue Bouldon. He was joined speedily by Jones, who had only to look out so as to escape from Dawson.
He was an active, well-built boy, of between twelve and thirteen years old. He had light-brown hair, curling slightly, with a fair complexion and a good colour. His mouth showed a good deal of firmness, and he had clear honest eyes, with no little amount of humour in them. He was dressed in a dark-blue jacket, white trousers, and a cloth cap. Dawson and Bouldon eyed him narrowly.
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