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playing with the baby, who was just old enough to be amusing.

      “I’ve got a plan on hand,” whispered Bob to Bert, just before dinner was served. “I’ve been wondering if your father will let us carry it out.”

      “What is it?” questioned Bert.

      “You are not to drive home until late this afternoon. I wonder if your father won’t let you go down to Long Lake with me after dinner, to see the hockey match.”

      “Is it far from here?”

      “About two miles. We can drive down in our cutter. Father will let me have the cutter and old Rusher, I’m sure.”

      “I’ll see about it,” said Bert. “I’d like to see the hockey match very much.”

      As soon as he got the chance Bert questioned his parent about going.

      “I don’t know about this,” said Mr. Bobbsey slowly. “Do you think you two boys can be trusted alone with the horse?”

      “Oh, yes, papa. Bob has driven old Rusher many times.”

      “You must remember, Rusher used to be a race horse. He may run away with Bob and you.”

      “Oh, but that was years ago, papa. He is too old to run away now. Please say yes.”

      Bert continued to plead, and in the end Mr. Bobbsey gave him permission to go to the hockey match.

      “But you must be back before five o’clock,” said he. “We are going to start for home at that time.”

      The dinner was a fine one and tasted especially good to the children after their long ride. But Bert and Bob were impatient to be off, and left the moment they had disposed of their pieces of pie.

      Old Rusher was a black steed which, in years gone by, had won many a race on the track. He had belonged to a brother to Mr. Ramdell, who had died rather suddenly two years before. He was, as Bert had said, rather old, but there was still a good deal of fire left in him, as the boys were soon to discover to their cost.

      The road to Long Lake was a winding one, up one hill and down another, and around a sharp turn where in years gone by there had been a sand pit.

      In the best of spirits the two boys started off, Bob handling the reins like a veteran driver. Bob loved horses, and his one ambition in life was to handle a “spanking team,” as he called it.

      “Old Rusher can go yet,” said Bert, who enjoyed the manner in which the black steed stepped out. “He must have been a famous race horse in his day.”

      “He was,” answered Bob. “He won ever so many prizes.”

      The distance to Long Lake was covered almost before Bert knew it. As the hockey game was not yet begun they spent half an hour in driving over the road that led around the lake.

      Quite a crowd had gathered, some in sleighs and some on foot, and the surface of the lake was covered with skaters. When the hockey game started the crowd watched every move with interest.

      It was a “hot” game, according to Bert, and when a clever play was made he applauded as loudly as the rest. When the game was at an end he was sorry to discover that it was after four o’clock.

      “We must get home,” said he to Bob. “I promised to be back by five.”

      “Oh, we’ll get back in no time,” said Bob. “Remember, Rusher has had a good rest.”

      They were soon on the road again, Rusher kicking up his heels livelier than before, for the run down to the lake had merely enabled him to get the stiffness out of his limbs.

      Sleighs were on all sides and, as the two boys drove along, two different sleighing parties passed them.

      “Hullo, Ramdell!” shouted a young man in a cutter. “Got out old Rusher, I see. Want a race?”

      “I think I can beat you!” shouted back Bob, and in a moment more the two cutters were side by side, and each horse and driver doing his best to win.

      “Oh, Bob, can you hold him?” cried Bert.

      “To be sure I can!” answered Bob. “Just you let me alone and see.”

      “Come on!” yelled the stranger. “Come on, or I’ll leave you behind in no time!”

      “You’ll not leave me behind so quickly,” answered Bob. “Go it, Rusher, go it!” he added to his horse, and the steed flew over the smooth road at a rate of speed that filled Bert with astonishment.

      CHAPTER XVII

      The Race and the Runaway

      Bert loved to ride and drive, but it must be confessed that he did not enjoy racing.

      The road was rather uneven, and he could not help but think what the consequences might be if the cutter should strike a deep hollow or a big stone.

      “Don’t let Rusher run away,” he said to his friend. “Be careful.”

      Bob was by this time having his hands so full that he could not answer.

      “Steady, Rusher, steady!” he called out to the steed. “Steady, old boy!”

      But the old race horse was now warmed up to his work and paid no attention to what was said. On and on he sped, until the young man in the other cutter was gradually outdistanced.

      “Told you I could beat you!” flung back Bob.

      “The race is yours,” answered the young man, in much disappointment, and then he dropped further back than ever.

      “Better slacken up, Bob,” said Bert. “There is no use in driving so hard now.”

      “I—I can’t slacken up,” answered Bob. “Steady, Rusher,” he called out. “Whoa, old fellow, whoa!”

      But the old race horse did not intend to whoa, and on he flew as fast as his legs would carry him, up the first hill and then onward toward the turn before mentioned.

      “Be careful at the turn, Bob!” screamed Bert. “Be careful, or we’ll go over!”

      “Whoa, Rusher!” repeated Bob, and pulled in on the reins with all of his might.

      The turn where the sand pit had been was now close at hand. Here the road was rather narrow, so they had to drive close to the opening, now more than half filled with drifted snow. Bert clung to the cutter while Bob continued to haul in on the reins. Then came a crash, as the cutter hit a hidden stone and drove straight for the sand pit.

      “Hold on!” cried Bob, and the next instant Bert found himself flying out of the cutter and over the edge of the road. He tried to save himself by clutching at the ice and snow, but it was useless, and in a twinkling he disappeared into the sand pit! Bob followed, while Rusher went on more gayly than ever, hauling the overturned cutter after him.

      Down and down went poor Bert into the deep snow, until he thought he was never going to stop. Bob was beside him, and both floundered around wildly until almost the bottom of the pit was reached.

      “Oh, Bob!”

      “Oh, Bert! Are you hurt?”

      “Don’t know as I am. But what a tumble!”

      “Rusher has run away!”

      “I was afraid he’d do that.”

      For a minute the two boys knew not what to do. The deep snow lay all around them and how to get out of the pit was a serious question.

      “It’s a wonder we weren’t smothered,” said Bob. “Are you quite sure no bones have been broken?”

      “Bones broken? Why, Bob, it was like coming down on a big feather bed. I only hope Rusher doesn’t do any damage.”

      “So do I.”

      When the boys finally floundered

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