The afternoon was full of fun for them. They made plenty of
acquaintances among the other brown-faced farmer boys, and entered into
the spirit of the occasion with the hearty zest of boys out holidaying.
They were a little careful about not being too free with their
spending-money. "'Cause we're out on a long run, you know," Old Tilly
said. But what they did spend went for their share of the entertainment
given so freely to them by the big Granger who had taken them in tow.
It was a day filled with a round of pleasure, as Jot had predicted.

The athletic contests on the primitive little race-track proved the
greatest attraction of all. There were bicycle races after the
foot-racing and hammer-throwing and high jumping. Jot longed to vault
into his own wheel and whirl round the track dizzily, like the rest of
them. He and Kent stood together close to the turning-point. They had
somehow drifted away from Old Tilly.

A new race began, and up at the starting-place there seemed to be a good
deal of hilarity. The hearty laughs were tantalizing.

"What is it? Why don't they come on and give us fellows a chance to
laugh, too?" exclaimed Jot, impatiently.

Kent was peering sharply between his hands. He suddenly began to laugh.

"It's a slow race!" he cried. "They're trying to see who can get
behind! Come on up further where we can see. It'll be great!"

"Come along, then--hurry!" shouted Jot.