ily, and gradually demoralised the bowling of the
enemy.

As the game went on the excitement increased rapidly; and when at length
the ninth wicket went down for sixty-one, and the last man in appeared,
with nine to win, the eagerness on both sides scarcely knew bounds.
Every ball, every piece of fielding, was cheered by one side, and every
hit and every piece of play was as vehemently cheered by the other. If
Raleigh and Wren had been nervous bowlers, they would undoubtedly have
been disconcerted by the dead silence, followed by terrific applause,
amid which every ball--even a wide--was delivered. But happily they
were not.

It was at this critical juncture that Loman reappeared on the scene,
much consoled to have the interview with Cripps over, and quite ready
now to hear every one lament his absence from the match.

The last man in was Webster, a small Fifth boy, who in the last innings
had signalised himself by making a duck's-egg. The Fifth scarcely dared
hope he would stay in long enough for the nine runs required to be made,
and looked on now almost pale with anxiety.

"Now," said Pembury, near whom Loman, as well as our two Guinea-pigs,
found themselves, "it all depends on Oliver, and I back Oliver to do it,
don't you, Loamy?"

Loman, who since the last _Dominican_ had not been on speaking terms
with Pembury, did not vouchsafe a reply, "I do!" said Stephen, boldly.

"Do you, really?" replied Pembury, looking round at the boy. "Perhaps
you back yourself to talk when you're not spoken to, eh, Mr Greenhorn?"

"Bravo! bravo! Well run, sir! Bravo, Fifth!" was the cry as Oliver,
following up the first ball of the over, pilfered a bye from the
long-stop.

"Didn't I tell you!" exclaimed Pembury, delighted; "he'll save us; he's
got down to that end on purpose to take the bowling. Do you twig,
Loamy? And he'll stick to that end till the last ball of the over, and
then he'll run an odd number, and get up to the other end. Do you
comprehend?"

"You seem to know all about it," growled Loman, who saw the force of
Pembury's observations, but greatly disliked it all the same.

"Do I, really?" replied the lame boy; "how odd that is, now--
particularly without a crib!"

Loman was fast losing patience--a fact which seemed to have anything but
a damping effect on the editor of the _Dominican_. But another hit or
two by Oliver created a momentary diversion. It was quite clear that
Pembury's version of Oliver