odded, lifting his tankard and waving it on the way to his
mouth, in feeble farewell.

As he went out Dick glanced sideways at Amaryllis. The sparkle in her
eyes stopped him.

"Oh, daddy!" she murmured, "what a liar you are!"

"Cha-ampion!" said Dick, adding, as he left her: "Rubberneck!"

Already the cricketers were gathering about the rear of the brake,
amongst them a gentleman.

To him Dick touched his hat.

"T' driver, sir, be o'ercome with near leader fallin' la-ame. He be an
owd pal. Seems me tryin' t' buck 'im oop's gone wrong way down. So be
you offers no objection, sir, I'll drive 'ee myself. Sam'l Bunce I'm
called, and 'tis Ecclesthorpe where us wants to go."

The Reverend Mr. Dixon Mallaby looked him up and down with good-humoured
scrutiny.

"I can't object to being pulled out of a hole," he replied. "And I don't
think I should enjoy driving Mr. Grudger's cattle myself."

"Then if ye'll bid landlord have Ned Blossom sent on t' Ecclesthorpe
when he be sober, I'll get t' three-cornered team hitched up."

And Dick went towards the stable, but turned back.

"Ought t' 'ave said, sir," he explained, "as I'll drive 'ee, so be as
there's room for my daughter."

"The pretty girl on the bench there? Why, of course there's room. Does
she want to see the match?"

"Doctor's orders she's to take all the fresh air there be, sir, and
we're paying for't in shoe-leather. By same token, she looks after me
too. Wouldn't let me out 'lone to-day, 'cos yesterday Ah went too free,
an' got into a bit o' rough house."

"I see," said the clergyman. "That's a nasty cut on your cheek."

Dick laughed.

"One o' them others got a worse," he answered, and went in search of Tod
Sloan.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE UNICORN.

When Sam Bunce returned, he had a straw in one corner of his mouth, and
was leading a sturdy roadster, with whom he seemed already on terms of
intimacy.

Mr. Dixon Mallaby, meantime, had introduced himself to Amaryllis,
getting, for his pains, but the Araminta of the sun-bonnet; and Dick,
when he and the ostler had harnessed Tod in his lonely distinction, went
round to find her the centre of an admiring group competing, it seemed,
for her company in the brake; the girl answering with "Na-ay!" "Na-ay,
thank 'ee kindly," and "Thank 'ee, sir, Ah'll ask feyther," with a
genuine flush on her face due to fear of speech rather than of men,
which did much to heighten her attraction for these kindly laboure