ck before the ball
returns to the wicket-keeper's hands.

Positively I had scored two! I felt as proud as if I had been elected
an M.P. The next ball went for two more, and I could hear a cheer from
the tent, which made me feel very valiant. I glanced to the signal-
board; our score was ninety-six, only twenty-seven to win! Why should
not I be able to hold out until Steel made up the figure, and so defeat
Westfield by four wickets? At any rate I would try; and I sent my next
ball for a single.

Then it was Steel's turn to bat. Of course he would send it flying.

Horrors! He has missed it! A deafening shout proclaims that his
glorious innings is at an end, and I feel like an orphan as I watch him,
with his bat under his arm, quitting the wicket at which he had put
together sixty-six runs in as fine a style as any player ever did. It
was good to hear the applause which welcomed him back to the tent.

But what was to become of us? Here were twenty-six runs to get, and the
four weakest batsmen of our side to play. However, one can but do his
best.

So I played as carefully as I could, becoming gradually accustomed to
the bowling, and knocking an occasional one or two on to the score. My
new companion, however, kept me company but a short time, and his
successor shorter still. This fellow coming in now is our last man.
Will he and I ever be able to stick together till these fifteen runs
which are now required can be made up?

"Steady, Tom," I whisper, as he passes me on the way to his wicket. He
winks his answer.

It is a responsible thing for us two youngsters, with the whole fate of
the school depending on us. But we keep cool, and play our very best.
One by one the score runs up. Ten to win--now eight, seven. It is
getting exciting. The crowd hangs eagerly on the result of each ball.
Another two from my companion. The Westfield fellows look nervously at
the signal-board, as if by watching it they could make our figure grow
less. But, no! Another two, from my bat this time, and then a single.
Only two to win! The next ball gets past my comrade's bat, and skims
within a hair's-breadth of his bails.

"Steady, now!" cries Steel, cheerily. "Mind what you're at!"

Steady it is. The next two balls are blocked dead.

Then my companion makes a single. Hurrah! We are equal now. At any
rate defeat is averted! Now for victory! It is my turn to bat; but
this ball is not the sort of one to play