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Updated: May 28, 2025
"Yes; and a nice dance you gave a chap my size over the railway and across those ditches! But I didn't miss a single one of them, all the same." "But what did you do at the canal?" asked Forwood. "Why, swam it, of course obliged to do it, wasn't I, if the hares went that way? I say, is there any grub going?" Plucky little Jim Barlow!
Forwood describes the removal of a vesical calculus, the nucleus of which was an iron arrow-head, as follows: "Sitimore, a wild Indian, Chief of the Kiowas, aged forty-two, applied to me at Fort Sill, Indian Territory, August, 1869, with symptoms of stone in the bladder.
The playground wall was now visible only half a mile away, on the other side of the Gravelshire Canal, which had to be crossed by a bridge which we were fast approaching. I gave a rapid look back. Forwood was now only a hundred yards behind us, with lots of running still in him. He would certainly run us down in the next half-mile. "Birch," I said, as I ran beside him, "are you good for a swim?"
Birch in an instant hauls me to my feet, just as Forwood rises to the leap. Then for a hundred yards it is a race for very life. What a shouting there is! and what a rushing of boys and waving of caps pass before our eyes! On comes Forwood, the gallant hound, at our heels; we can hear him behind us distinctly! "Now you have them!" shouts one.
In the Record Office, London, there are no fewer than ten logs of Cook's voyage; three of these are anonymous, but six of them are signed by the ship's officers, and one, from circumstantial evidence, is no doubt by Green, the astronomer. The signed logs are by Hicks, Cook's first lieutenant; Forwood, the gunner; and Pickersgill, Clerke, Wilkinson, and Bootie, mates.
The canal was only about thirty feet wide, and we were across it in a twinkling, our light flannel clothes scarcely interfering with our swimming, and certainly not adding much to the weight we carried after being soaked through. Three hundred yards now! Ah! that cheer behind means that Forwood has followed our plunge. What are they laughing at, though? Can he have foundered? No! Another shout!
Mark Forwood, a clever-looking young man with kind eyes and intelligent features, looked at Robin sympathetically. "I am quite sure," he said, "that Mr. Clifford will take as much pride in the fine old place as his uncle did but is there not Miss Jocelyn? the daughter will probably inherit the farm, will she not, as nearest of kin?" Mr.
The rest of the adventures that began in the sleeping-car between Calais and Basle, and came abruptly to an end on the North African shore, may soon be told. Our first act was to return to England at the very earliest opportunity, and we embarked that evening on a Forwood steamer direct for London, which port we reached in less than five days. Town was empty, and we did not linger there.
Scarcely had we emerged into the open ground for a couple of minutes, when we saw a figure dash out of the lane in full cry after us. It was Forwood, the whipper-in, a terrible "scud" across country, and he was only fifty yards or so ahead of three others, also celebrated for their pace. So we hares had our work cut out for us, and no mistake!
Three of them, who had kept neck and neck all the way, were only two minutes behind Forwood; but they had shirked the swim, and taken the higher and drier course as, indeed, most of the other hounds did by way of the bridge.
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