'I wish they wouldn't run races,' thought the little girl. 'They're so
big compared with me--they've such much longer legs. I shan't like
Seacove if they're going always to run races. In London they couldn't in
the streets; it was only when we went in the gardens, and that wasn't
every day, it was too far to go. I wish I had a brother or a sister
littler than me; it's too much difference between Alie and me, thirteen
and eight. I wish----'

But here came a whoop from behind.

'Off, Biddy; look sharp--one, two, three.'

Poor Biddy--off she set as fast as she _could_ go, which is not saying
much. She puffed and panted, for she was not without a spirit of her own
and did not want to be overtaken _too_ soon. And for a time Rough's
cries of encouragement, 'Gee-up, old woman,' 'Famous, Biddy,' 'You'll
win yet,' and so on, spurred her to fresh exertions. But not for long;
she felt her powers flagging, and as first Alie and then Rough, both
apparently as fresh as ever, passed her at full speed, she gave in.

'It's no use. I can't run races. I wish you wouldn't make me,' she said,
as in a minute or two the two others came flying back again to where she
stood, a convenient goal for their return race.

'But you ran splendidly for a bit,' said Randolph; 'and I'll tell you
what, Biddy, it would be a very good thing for you to run a good deal
more than you do. It'll make you grow and stop you getting too fat.'

'I'm not fatter than you were when you were as little as me, Roughie.