rs. Maxwell, whose son had that shade of hair which is supposed to
indicate a hasty temper, was shouting directions to him as loudly as
she could. Mrs. Maxwell's directions were good ones, too, if Alec
could only have followed them. "Shoot, Alec!" she called. "Shoot it
in! Run, Alec! Shoot it in!"

Millford's only lawyer, the dignified and stately Mr. Hawkins, came
majestically down the line, carrying a camp stool under his arm. He
had found it necessary to change his position, incensed at the
undignified behaviour of the Hillsboro girls, who had taken up their
position on one side of the field and were taking a lively interest
in the game. He had ventured a slight rebuke, whereupon the whole
battery of their indignation had been trained on him, with the result
that he withdrew hastily. He sat down just in front of Mrs. Perkins
and Mrs. Watson, and began to take an interest in the game. The ball
was near Millford's goal and a scrimmage was taking place, a solid
knot of players that moved and writhed and twisted.

Suddenly Bud Perkins shot out from the others, carrying his stick
high above his head as he, raced up the field. "Bud! Bud! Bud!"
Millford cried in an ecstasy of hope and fear. He sprang, dodged,
whirled, the whole field in pursuit, and then, when in line with
Hillsboro's goal, he shot low and swift and sure!

A great cheer burst from the crowd, hats were thrown in the air,
little boys turned handsprings, and Millford went stark, staring mad.

Mrs. Perkins was not naturally an excitable woman, and she looked the
very soul of meekness in her respectable black dress and little black
bonnet tied tightly under her chin, but if your only boy--the only
living out of three--your boy that had been real delicate and hard to
raise--if he had dodged the whole field and shot a goal, straight as
a die, and the whole town were cheering for him, mad with joy, you
might have been roused a bit, too. When Mrs. Perkins came to herself
she was pounding her parasol on the broad, dignified shoulders of
Millford's most stately citizen, Mr. E. Cuthbert Hawkins, who moved
away rather haughtily.

Over near the lemonade booth, Bud's father was explaining to an
interested group just how Bud came to be such a smart boy.

"Young Bud has never worked the way his dad did," he said. "I ain't
like some men that rob the cradle for farm hands and puts little lads
building roads when they are so small they have to be weighted down
with ston