her plain black bonnet, awakens the curiosity of
the crowd, which only increases when it becomes known that she is
Shock's mother.

"Do you see Hamish, my dear?" inquires the old lady. "They are so much
alike I cannot distinguish him."

"Go and bring him," cries Betty, and Lloyd returns in a moment with
Shock and little Brown.

"Mother! mother! This is awful. You won't like it a bit. You'll think
I'm getting killed many a time."

But the old lady only smiles placidly. "Indeed, and I'm not afraid for
you. Run away, Hamish, and be careful of the laddies."

"Don't tell him that, Mrs. Macgregor," pleads Brown. "He's far too
gentle as it is."

Some few minutes are spent in arranging for the kick-off.

"Oh, I do wish they would start," exclaims Betty, standing up in the
carriage. "If they would only start!" she repeats. "I want to have a
chance to shriek."

"There they go!" exclaims Lloyd.

It is McGill's kick. Huntingdon, the big captain and centre forward,
takes it magnificently, following up hard with his whole team. Pepper,
the 'Varsity full back, however, is at the spot and returns into touch.
In the throw-in McGill secures the ball, and by a swift rush makes
fifteen or twenty feet, when, amid the cheers of the spectators, both
teams settle down into their first scrimmage.

These are the days of close scrimmage play, when nine men on each side
put their heads down with the ball between them, and shove for dear
life. Picking out, heeling out, or kicking out is strictly forbidden
and promptly penalised.

The first scrimmage results in a dead ball. Once more a scrimmage is
formed, but again the result is a dead ball. Over and over again this
play is repeated with very little gain on either side. It gradually
becomes apparent, however, that McGill in a scrimmage is slightly
heavier. Foot by foot they work their way toward the 'Varsity goal.

The cries of "Hold them, 'Varsity! Hold them, 'Varsity!" and, "You've
got 'em, McGill! You've got 'em!" indicate the judgment of the
spectators.

"Ay," says the old lady, "they are a bit heavy for them, I doubt."

"Who!" inquires Betty, much amused.

"The Montreal lads. But we will be waiting a meenute."

It is a very slow game for the crowds that line every side of the
field. Neither team will let the ball out. Again and again the quarters
nip up the ball and pass, but the tackling is so hard and swift that
the halves cannot get away, and by passing ground is almost