keeper was attracted
by the sound of the firing, and he implored me in his rough English
fashion to spare those that were left. That night I was able to place
twelve birds as a surprise upon Lord Rufton's supper-table, and he
laughed until he cried, so overjoyed was he to see them. "Gad, Gerard,
you'll be the death of me yet!" he cried. Often he said the same thing,
for at every turn I amazed him by the way in which I entered into the
sports of the English.

There is a game called cricket which they play in the summer, and this
also I learned. Rudd, the head gardener, was a famous player of cricket,
and so was Lord Rufton himself. Before the house was a lawn, and here
it was that Rudd taught me the game. It is a brave pastime, a game for
soldiers, for each tries to strike the other with the ball, and it is
but a small stick with which you may ward it off. Three sticks behind
show the spot beyond which you may not retreat. I can tell you that it
is no game for children, and I will confess that, in spite of my nine
campaigns, I felt myself turn pale when first the ball flashed past me.
So swift was it that I had not time to raise my stick to ward it off,
but by good fortune it missed me and knocked down the wooden pins which
marked the boundary. It was for Rudd then to defend himself and for me
to attack. When I was a boy in Gascony I learned to throw both far and
straight, so that I made sure that I could hit this gallant Englishman.

With a shout I rushed forward and hurled the ball at him. It flew as
swift as a bullet toward his ribs, but without a word he swung his staff
and the ball rose a surprising distance in the air. Lord Rufton clapped
his hands and cheered. Again the ball was brought to me, and again it
was for me to throw. This time it flew past his head, and it seemed to
me that it was his turn to look pale.

But he was a brave man, this gardener, and again he faced me. Ah, my
friends, the hour of my triumph had come! It was a red waistcoat that
he wore, and at this I hurled the ball. You would have said that I was
a gunner, not a hussar, for never was so straight an aim. With a
despairing cry--the cry of the brave man who is beaten--he fell upon the
wooden pegs behind him, and they all rolled upon the ground together. He
was cruel, this English milord, and he laughed so that he could not come
to the aid of his servant. It was for me, the victor, to rush forward to
embrace this intrepid player, and to rais