ile deepened on the
old man's face as he watched the little fellow's preparations; there was
such an absorbed interest in them. The small table was dragged forward
and placed by his chair, and the game taken from its box and arranged
upon it.

"It's very interesting when you once begin," said Fauntleroy. "You see,
the black pegs can be your side and the white ones mine. They're men,
you know, and once round the field is a home run and counts one--and
these are the outs--and here is the first base and that's the second and
that's the third and that's the home base."

He entered into the details of explanation with the greatest animation.
He showed all the attitudes of pitcher and catcher and batter in the
real game, and gave a dramatic description of a wonderful "hot ball"
he had seen caught on the glorious occasion on which he had witnessed a
match in company with Mr. Hobbs. His vigorous, graceful little body, his
eager gestures, his simple enjoyment of it all, were pleasant to behold.

When at last the explanations and illustrations were at an end and the
game began in good earnest, the Earl still found himself entertained.
His young companion was wholly absorbed; he played with all his childish
heart; his gay little laughs when he made a good throw, his enthusiasm
over a "home run," his impartial delight over his own good luck and his
opponent's, would have given a flavor to any game.

If, a week before, any one had told the Earl of Dorincourt that on that
particular morning he would be forgetting his gout and his bad temper
in a child's game, played with black and white wooden pegs, on a gayly
painted board, with a curly-headed small boy for a companion, he would
without doubt have made himself very unpleasant; and yet he certainly
had forgotten himself when the door opened and Thomas announced a
visitor.

The visitor in question, who was an elderly gentleman in black, and no
less a person than the clergyman of the parish, was so startled by the
amazing scene which met his eye, that he almost fell back a pace, and
ran some risk of colliding with Thomas.

There was, in fact, no part of his duty that the Reverend Mr. Mordaunt
found so decidedly unpleasant as that part which compelled him to call
upon his noble patron at the Castle. His noble patron, indeed, usually
made these visits as disagreeable as it lay in his lordly power to make
them. He abhorred churches and charities, and flew into violent rages
when an