back; he will not kick out till they are all
in goal, behind the posts; they are all edging forward, inch by inch,
to get nearer for the rush at Crab Jones, who stands there in front of
old Brooke to catch the ball. If they can reach and destroy him before
he catches, the danger is over; and with one and the same rush they
will carry it right away to the School-house goal. Fond[49] hope! it
is kicked out and caught beautifully. Crab strikes his heel into the
ground, to mark the spot where the ball was caught, beyond which the
School line may not advance; but there they stand, five deep, ready to
rush the moment the ball touches the ground. Take plenty of room!
don't give the rush a chance of reaching you! place it true and
steady! Trust Crab Jones--he has made a small hole with his heel for
the ball to lie on, by which he is resting on one knee, with his eye
on old Brooke. "Now!" Crab places the ball at the word, old Brooke
kicks, and it rises slowly and truly as the School rush forward.

[46] #Toco#: probably kicks and cuffs.

[47] #Lombard Street#: the centre of the banking business in
London.

[48] #China orange#: a sweet orange.

[49] Fond: here, foolish.

A GOAL.

Then a moment's pause, while both sides look up at the spinning ball.
There it flies, straight between the two posts, some five feet above
the cross-bar, an unquestioned goal; and a shout of real genuine joy
rings out from the School-house players-up, and a faint echo of it
comes over the close from the goal-keepers under the Doctor's wall.
A goal in the first hour--such a thing hasn't been done in the
School-house match these five years.

"Over!" is the cry; the two sides change goals, and the School-house
goal-keepers come threading their way across through the masses of the
School; the most openly triumphant of them, amongst whom is Tom, a
School-house boy of two hours' standing, getting their ears boxed in
the transit. Tom, indeed, is excited beyond measure, and it is all the
sixth-form boy, kindest and safest of goal-keepers, has been able to
do, to keep him from rushing out whenever the ball has been near their
goal. So he holds him by his side, and instructs him in the science of
touching.

At this moment Griffith, the itinerant[50] vender of oranges from Hill
Morton, enters the close with his heavy baskets; there is a rush of
small boys upon the little pale-faced man, the two sides mingling
together, subdued by th