n o'
the Collie Park C.C. a match at bat an' wickets on the Wast Common.
It'll be a rare affair. Ye micht get Mistress Kenawee to look efter
the shop for an 'oor or twa, an' come ootbye, Bawbie."

Ay, weel, to mak' a lang story short, Sandy an' me got ootbye to the
Wast Common on Setarday efternune; an' awa we gaed up to a corner o'
the Common whaur there was aboot a hunder loons gaithered. The loonie
that they ca'd the captain cam' forrit. He was berfit, an' had his
jecket an' weyscot aff, an' his gallaces lowsed i' the front an' tied
roond his weyst.

"We've won the toss, Sandy," says he, "an' the Collie Park's genna
handle the willa first. We've sent them in to see what they'll mak'."

Sandy took me up the brae a bit, an' I got set doon on the girss wi'
Nathan aside me. I took him wi's juist to explain the match, d'ye see,
an' aboot the bats an' wickets, an' sic like, an' so on, because I'm
no' juist acquant wi' a' the oots an' ins o' the thing. A lot o' the
loons gathered roond an' lay doon on the girss, an' they keepit their
tongues gaen to the playin', I can tell ye. Ye wudda thocht they kent
mair aboot cricket than the loons that were playin'.

Weel, the match got startit. They set Sandy at the end nearest the
dyke; an', faigs, he lookit gey weel, mind ye. The captain loonie
wirks at the heckle-machines, an' he'd gotten a len' o' the second
foreman's white canvas coat, an' gae't to Sandy. It was to keep his
shedda oot ahent the bailer's airm, Sandy said; but it didna appear to
mak' ony difference to his shedda. It was juist in the auld place, as
far as I cud see.

Very weel, than, the match began, as I was sayin', an' a'thing gaed
richt eneuch for a little. The Collie Park lads did fine for a while,
but some o' them didna get so lang strikin' the ba' as ithers, an' they
began to roar cheek.

"Noo, Batchy," said some o' them, as a gey mettled-lookin' loon got the
bat, "strik' oot. Lat's see ye knokin' the colour oot o' Snapper
Morrison's ballin'."

Sal, mind ye, an' Batchy wasna lang o' doin' that. He shut his een,
an' hit sweech at the ba', an' awa' it gaed sailin' ower the dyke.

"Well away," roared the loons roond aboot me. "That's a sixer. Play
up, Batchy!"

Batchy spat in his hands, an' set himsel' up for the next ba'. He lut
drive at it, but missed, an' doon gaed his wickets. Ye never heard sic
a row.

"A bloomin' sneak!" roared a' the laddies aside me thegither. "Dinna
gae o