r for the men of his estate to encounter a
valley Eleven. Redworth, like the good fellow he was, had come down by
appointment in the morning out of London, to fill the number required,
Copsley being weak this year. Eight of their wickets had fallen for a
lament able figure of twenty-nine runs; himself clean-bowled the first
ball. But Tom Redworth had got fast hold of his wicket, and already
scored fifty to his bat. 'There! grand hit!' Sir Lukin cried, the ball
flying hard at the rails. 'Once a cricketer, always a cricketer,
if you've legs to fetch the runs. And Pullen's not doing badly. His
business is to stick. We shall mark them a hundred yet. I do hate a
score on our side without the two 00's.' He accounted for Redworth's
mixed colours by telling the ladies he had lent him his flannel jacket;
which, against black trousers, looked odd but not ill.

Gradually the enthusiasm of the booth and bystanders converted the
flying of a leather ball into a subject of honourable excitement.

'And why are you doing nothing?' Sir Lukin was asked; and he explained:

'My stumps are down: I'm married.' He took his wife's hand prettily.

Diana had a malicious prompting. She smothered the wasp, and said: 'Oh!
look at that!'

'Grand hit again! Oh! good! good!' cried Sir Lukin, clapping to it,
while the long-hit-off ran spinning his legs into one for an impossible
catch; and the batsmen were running and stretching bats, and the ball
flying away, flying back, and others after it, and still the batsmen
running, till it seemed that the ball had escaped control and was
leading the fielders on a coltish innings of its own, defiant of
bowlers.

Diana said merrily: 'Bravo our side!'

'Bravo, old Tom Redworth'; rejoined Sir Lukin. 'Four, and a three!
And capital weather, haven't we: Hope we shall have same sort day
next month--return match, my ground. I've seen Tom Redworth score--old
days--over two hundred t' his bat. And he used to bowl too. But bowling
wants practice. And, Emmy, look at the old fellows lining the booth,
pipe in mouth and cheering. They do enjoy a day like this. We'll have a
supper for fifty at Copsley's:--it's fun. By Jove! we must have reached
up to near the hundred.'

He commissioned a neighbouring boy to hie to the booth for the latest
figures, and his emissary taught lightning a lesson.

Diana praised the little fellow.

'Yes, he's a real English boy,' said Emma.

'We 've thousands of 'em, thousands, ready to