nelled fool' upon his native
heath. They are playing a game which my memory tells me is cricket.
Everyone seems very hot and very excited."

Wilhelmina beckoned to the footman to come round to the side of the
carriage.

"James," she said, "do you know what all this means?"

She waved her hand towards the cricket pitch, the umpires with their
white coats, the tent and the crowd of spectators. The man touched his
hat.

"It is a cricket match, madam," he answered, "between Thorpe and
Nesborough."

Wilhelmina looked once more towards the field, and recognized Mr. Hurd
upon his stout little cob.

"Go and tell Mr. Hurd to come and speak to me," she ordered.

The man hastened off. Mr. Hurd had not once turned his head. His eyes
were riveted upon the game. The groom found it necessary to touch him on
the arm before he could attract his attention. Even when he had
delivered his message, the agent waited until the finish of the over
before he moved. Then he cantered his pony up to the waiting carriage.
Wilhelmina greeted him graciously.

"I want to know about the cricket match, Mr. Hurd," she asked, smiling.

Mr. Hurd wheeled his pony round so that he could still watch the game.

"I am afraid that we are going to be beaten, madam," he said dolefully.
"Nesborough made a hundred and ninety-eight, and we have six wickets
down for fifty."

Wilhelmina seemed scarcely to realize the tragedy which his words
unfolded.

"I suppose they are the stronger team, aren't they?" she remarked. "They
ought to be. Nesborough is quite a large town."

"We have beaten them regularly until the last two years," Mr. Hurd
answered. "We should beat them now but for their fast bowler, Mills. I
don't know how it is, but our men will not stand up to him."

"Perhaps they are afraid of being hurt," Wilhelmina suggested
innocently. "If that is he bowling now, I'm sure I don't wonder at it."

Mr. Hurd frowned.

"We don't have men in the eleven who are afraid of getting hurt," he
remarked stiffly.

A shout of dismay from the onlookers, a smothered exclamation from Mr.
Hurd, and a man was seen on his way to the pavilion. His wickets were
spreadeagled, and the ball was being tossed about the field.

"Another wicket!" the agent exclaimed testily. "Crooks played all round
that ball!"

"Isn't that your son going in, Mr. Hurd?" Wilhelmina asked.

"Yes! Stephen is in now," his father answered. "If he gets out, the
match is over."

"Who is the