Anyhow, he made tracks after the record breaker. It was a tough bit to pull up, but at Duder's Hill the quiok rattle Btartled the director, who saw the game and started. It was a go. Peter, driving his lumbering team, was Btartled out of his dreams of banquets by seeing the white mare skim by and before his astonishment could express itself in good Scotch. Buzz I the other one flipped past. Down hill, up hill, the white mare held its own, and kept the road. A sharp turn, and both traps fairly skidded at an angle that was anything but' comfortable. Then the burly form of ' Sun Fire ' hailed in view, jogging along with his sharp trotting pony, smiling and happy and looking the picture of content. But that look changed to one of alarm when the two cleaned the plate and all before them as they scattered the metal from ita bed. Suddenly a double corner was reached— a broad expanse with ' whips ' of room. This waa the young uns chance. A Bhout, and his cart fairly flew off its wheels and sailed through the air, streak ing away and beating the record. This ended the fun. It was all over. The favourite was beaten, and all the Lake wondered. The comments are free, and now it is whispered that all the white mare wants is a few oats, and there shall be such a match that will make all others a funeral.
