es in their pockets to keep them from blowin' away. Young
Bud has run in the pasture all his life, you may say, and it would be
queer if he hadn't some speed in him. He comes of pretty good stock,
let me tell you, registered in every strain, if I do say it. Look at
that for a well-rounded leg!" Mr. Perkins made it easy for every one
to do so. "Eighteen inches around the calf, and tapered to the toe!"
He patted it lovingly. "I tell you, there was action there a few
years ago!"

Meanwhile the play went on faster than ever. Hillsboro scored a goal
through the Millford goal-keeper's stick breaking, and the score
stood one to one until within fifteen minutes of the time. The
Millford boys were plainly nervous. Victory meant the district
championship, and confusion to their enemies.

The game was close and hard--no long throws--every inch contested--it
had ceased to be a game, it was a battle! One minute the ball went
close to Millford's goal and Mrs. Watson and Mrs. Perkins clutched
each other's hands in wordless dread; but the wiry form of Teddy
Watson shot up in the air and the ball bounced back into the Millford
captain's stick. As he ran along the edge of the crowd with it, one
of the Hillsboro girls slashed at him viciously with her red parasol.
The captain passed the ball safely to Alec Maxwell, whose red hair
made him a shining mark for the Hillsboro girls. But Sandy was not a
bit disconcerted by their remarks. Big Dave Hunter, his check, was
after him. Big Dave was a powerfully built fellow with a chest like a
Clyde and a cheerful expanse of freckles. As Alec Maxwell threw the
ball to Bud Perkins, Big Dave's long reach intercepted it, and then
he made one of those grand rushes for which he was known and dreaded
by his opponents, and which are still remembered by the old boys who
played the game. This time Dave's good old trick miscarried, for
Teddy Watson, slender as he was, neatly body-checked him--the ball
fell from his stick into that of Alec Maxwell, who, boring his way
through the Hillsboro defence, shot on goal and scored.

The home crowd went wild with cheers, for time was up, and the score
stood two to one in Millford's favour. Thomas Perkins was hilarious.
"Come on, John!" he said to John Watson, "let's have a little
Schlitz. I never take anything stronger now, since the boy grew up.
What! You don't drink Schlitz? It's harmless as hay-tea, but perhaps
you're right."

CHAPTER XIX

THE END OF THE