s
cricket mad, and Harry after him, and my father was the best cricketer
in Stoneborough till his accident.

'Yes, Dr. May always comes to see the matches,' said Leonard. 'You
will, won't you now, Miss May? I didn't think you knew anything about
cricket, but it will be all the better now.'

Ethel laughed, and half promised.

Cocksmoor existed without Ethel on that holiday; and indeed she was
self-reproachful, though pleased, at finding her presence so great a
treat to her father. Leonard might do the honours of the lime-tree
nook, but she spent but little time there, for Dr. May made her walk
about with him as he exchanged greetings with each and all, while
Gertrude led Richard about at her will, and Mary consorted with the
Ward girls. With no one on her mind, Ethel could give free attention
to the smoothly-shaven battle-field, where, within the gray walls
shaded by the overhanging elms, the young champions were throwing all
the ardour and even the chivalry of their nature into the contest.

The annual game had been delayed by the illness in the spring, and the
school had lost several good players at the end of the half year; but,
on the other hand, the holidays being over, George Larkins had been
unable to collect an eleven either in full practice or with public
school training; and the veteran spectators were mourning the decay of
cricket, and talking of past triumphs. The school had the first
innings, which resulted in the discomfiture of Fielder, one of their
crack champions, and with no great honour to any one except Folliot,
the Dux, and Leonard Ward, who both acquitted themselves so creditably,
that it was allowed that if others had done as well, Stoneborough might
have had a chance.

But when 'All England' went in, the game seemed to be more equally
balanced. Aubrey May, in spite of devoted practice under Tom's
instructions, was, from nervous eagerness, out almost as soon as in,
and in his misery of shame and despair felt like the betrayer of his
cause. But in due time, with the sun declining, and the score still
low, Tom May came forward, as the last hope of 'All England,' lissom,
active, and skilled, walking up to his wicket with the easy confidence
of one not greatly caring, but willing to show the natives what play
might be.

And his play was admirable; the fortunes of the day began to tremble in
the balance; every one, spectators and all, were in a state of eager
excitement; and Aubrey, out o