r so young a player, but one which was
accorded to me by virtue of my light weight and not inconsiderable
running powers. Behind me are the two backs, on whom, when all else
fails, the issue of the conflict depends. The Craven players are
similarly disposed, and waiting impatiently for our captain's kick.

"Are you ready?" he shouts.

Silence gives consent.

He gives a quick glance round at us, then springs forward, and in an
instant the ball is soaring high in the direction of the Cravens' goal
amid the shouts of onlooking friend and foe.

Our forwards were after it like lightning, but not before a Craven back
had got hold of it and run some distance in the direction of our goal.
He did not wait to be attacked, but by a clever drop-kick, a knack
peculiar to all good backs, sent it spinning right over the forwards'
heads into the hands of one of our quarter-backs. He, tucking it under
his arm and crushing his cap on to his head, started to run. Going
slowly at first, he steered straight for the forwards of the enemy till
within a pace or two of them, when he doubled suddenly, and amid the
shouts of our partisans slipped past them and was seen heading straight
for the Craven goal. But although he had escaped their forwards, he had
yet their rearguard to escape, which was far harder work, for was not
one of that rearguard the celebrated Slider himself, who by his prowess
had last year carried defeat to our school; and the other, was it not
the stalwart Naylor, who only a month ago had played gloriously for his
county against Gravelshire?

Yet our man was not to be daunted by the prestige of these distinguished
adversaries, but held on his way pluckily, and without a swerve. It was
a sight to see those two cunningly lay wait for him, like two spiders
for a fly. There was nothing for it but to plunge headlong into their
web in a desperate effort to break through. Alas! brave man! Naylor
has him in his clutches, the Craven forwards come like a deluge on the
spot, our forwards pour over the Craven, and in an instant our hero and
the ball have vanished from sight under a heap of writhing humanity.

"Down!" cries a half-choked voice, from the bottom of the heap. It was
rather an unnecessary observation, as it happens, but it served as a
signal to both parties to rise to their feet and prepare for a
"scrimmage."

Now, if truth must be told, our school always had the reputation of
being second to none in "going