in sight amid a cloud of dust. Then came Dave at scarcely faster than a
trot, and flogging all he knew with a piece of greenhide plough-rein.
Bess was all-out and floundering. There was about two hundred yards yet
to cover. Dave kept at her--THUD! THUD! Slower and slower she came.
"Damn the fellow!" Dad said; "what's he beating her for?" "Stop it,
you fool!" he shouted. But Dave sat down on her for the final effort and
applied the hide faster and faster. Dad crunched his teeth.
Once--twice--three times Bess changed her stride, then struck a branch-root
of a tree that projected a few inches above ground, and over she
went--CRASH! Dave fell on his head and lay spread out, motionless. We
picked him up and carried him inside, and when Mother saw blood on him she
fainted straight off without waiting to know if it were his own or not.
Both looked as good as dead; but Dad, with a bucket of water, soon brought
them round again.

It was scarcely dawn when we began preparing for a start to the races.
Dave, after spending fully an hour trying in vain to pull on Mother's
elastic-side boots, decided to ride in his own heavy bluchers. We went
with Dad in the dray. Mother would n't go; she said she did n't want to
see her son get killed, and warned Dad that if anything happened the blame
would for ever be on his head.

We arrived at the Overhaul in good time. Dad took the horse out of the
dray and tied him to a tree. Dave led Bess about, and we stood and
watched the shanty-keeper unpacking gingerbeer. Joe asked Dad for sixpence
to buy some, but Dad had n't any small change. We remained in front of
the booth through most of the day, and ran after any corks that popped out
and handed them in again to the shanty-keeper. He did n't offer us
anything--not a thing!