f many
an anxious youngster, up betimes to mark the signs of the weather. The
eleven went down in a body before breakfast, for a plunge in the cold
bath in a corner of the close. The ground was in splendid order, and
soon after ten o'clock, before spectators had arrived, all was ready,
and two of the Lord's men took their places at the wickets--the School,
with the usual liberality of young hands, having put their adversaries
in first. Old Bailey stepped up to the wicket, and called play, and the
match has begun.

"Oh, well bowled! well bowled, Johnson!" cries the captain, catching
up the ball and sending it high above the rook trees, while the third
Marylebone man walks away from the wicket, and old Bailey gravely sets
up the middle stump again and puts the bails on.

"How many runs?" Away scamper three boys to the scoring table, and are
back again in a minute amongst the rest of the eleven, who are collected
together in a knot between wicket. "Only eighteen runs, and three
wickets down!" "Huzza for old Rugby!" sings out Jack Raggles, the
long-stop, toughest and burliest of boys, commonly called "Swiper Jack,"
and forthwith stands on his head, and brandishes his legs in the air
in triumph, till the next boy catches hold of his heels, and throws him
over on to his back.

"Steady there; don't be such an ass, Jack," says the captain; "we
haven't got the best wicket yet. Ah, look out now at cover-point," adds
he, as he sees a long-armed bare-headed, slashing-looking player coming
to the wicket. "And, Jack, mind your hits. He steals more runs than any
man in England."

And they all find that they have got their work to do now. The
newcomer's off-hitting is tremendous, and his running like a flash of
lightning. He is never in his ground except when his wicket is down.
Nothing in the whole game so trying to boys. He has stolen three byes in
the first ten minutes, and Jack Raggles is furious, and begins throwing
over savagely to the farther wicket, until he is sternly stopped by the
captain. It is all that young gentlemen can do to keep his team steady,
but he knows that everything depends on it, and faces his work bravely.
The score creeps up to fifty; the boys begin to look blank; and the
spectators, who are now mustering strong, are very silent. The ball
flies off his bat to all parts of the field, and he gives no rest and
no catches to any one. But cricket is full of glorious chances, and
the goddess who presides over