eg for five, while the applause becomes deafening. Only
seventeen runs to get with four wickets! The game is all but ours!

It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his wicket, with his bat
over his shoulder, while Mr. Aislabie holds a short parley with his
men. Then the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slow
twisters. Jack waves his hand triumphantly towards the tent, as much as
to say, "See if I don't finish it all off now in three hits."

Alas, my son Jack, the enemy is too old for thee. The first ball of the
over Jack steps out and meets, swiping with all his force. If he had
only allowed for the twist! But he hasn't, and so the ball goes spinning
up straight in the air, as if it would never come down again. Away runs
Jack, shouting and trusting to the chapter of accidents; but the bowler
runs steadily under it, judging every spin, and calling out, "I have
it," catches it, and playfully pitches it on to the back of the stalwart
Jack, who is departing with a rueful countenance.

"I knew how it would be," says Tom, rising. "Come along; the game's
getting very serious."

So they leave the island and go to the tent; and after deep
consultation, Arthur is sent in, and goes off to the wicket with a last
exhortation from Tom to play steady and keep his bat straight. To the
suggestions that Winter is the best bat left, Tom only replies, "Arthur
is the steadiest, and Johnson will make the runs if the wicket is only
kept up."

"I am surprised to see Arthur in the eleven," said the master, as they
stood together in front of the dense crowd, which was now closing in
round the ground.

"Well, I'm not quite sure that he ought to be in for his play," said
Tom, "but I couldn't help putting him in. It will do him so much good,
and you can't think what I owe him."

The master smiled. The clock strikes eight, and the whole field becomes
fevered with excitement. Arthur, after two narrow escapes, scores one,
and Johnson gets the ball. The bowling and fielding are superb, and
Johnson's batting worthy the occasion. He makes here a two, and there a
one, managing to keep the ball to himself, and Arthur backs up and runs
perfectly. Only eleven runs to make now, and the crowd scarcely breathe.
At last Arthur gets the ball again, and actually drives it forward
for two, and feels prouder than when he got the three best prizes, at
hearing Tom's shout of joy, "Well played, well played, young un!"

But the next