at every turn, and the clumsy ball would rise upon it, make a funny leap into the air, and then roll over and come up again; giving it the most ridiculous, limping gait that you ever saw, and leaving him ever so far behind the others.
"He's gone lame,—he's gone lame!" I shouted. "He's got the string-halt!"
Bess laughed and cheered with the rest of us. "Oh, isn't he funny?" she cried. "Look at him jump! But, oh, see Skedaddle, he's ahead of Hoosier Boy! Chet, they're going to beat you!"
Hop-and-go-fetch-it, as I had christened Bess's racer, was a dozen feet behind the other two; and those two started up the hill almost side by side. Half way up they were neck and neck, and we were holding our breath with excitement, when suddenly, something happened—the lame fellow in the rear had reached the foot of the hill, and in one of his upward wabbles, a great gust of wind caught him, and he came racing wildly up the dune, in a series of perfectly tremendous leaps and bounds, scarcely seeming to touch the ground at all.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear," cried Twinny, jumping
