allies, amid heartless jeers from Mr. Boone, smoking
comfortably under a tree, who desired to know should he fetch Mr.
O'Toole an umbrella?

The story in detail of a cricket match is generally of particular
interest to those who have been there; and as, unfortunately, the
number of spectators of the famous battle between Cunjee and Mulgoa was
limited, little would be served by an exhaustive description of each
over bowled on that day of relentless heat. Cunjee shaped badly from
the start. Their two most noted batsmen, a young blacksmith and the
post-master, fell victims, without getting into double figures, to the
crafty bowling of the Mulgoa captain, Dan Billings--who drove a coach in
his spare moments, and had as nice an understanding of how to make a
ball break on a fast wicket as of flicking the off leader on the ear
with the cracker of his four-in-hand whip. Dr. Anderson scored a couple
of fours, and then went out "leg before." He remarked, returning to the
"pavilion" sorrowfully, that when one was as round and fat as he, it
was difficult to keep out of the way of three little sticks! Then Dave
Boone and Wally made a stand that roused the perspiring spectators to
something like enthusiasm, for Mr. Boone was a mighty "slogger," and
Wally had a neat and graceful style that sent the Cunjee supporters
into the seventh heaven. Between them the score mounted rapidly, and
the men of Mulgoa breathed a sigh of relief when at length Dave skied a
ball from Billings, which descended into the ample hands of Murty
O'Toole, who was quite undecided whether to treat his catch as a
triumph or a calamity. There was no doubt, however, on the part of his
colleagues for the day, who thumped him wildly on the back and yelled
again with joy. Mr. Boone retired with a score of forty-five and a wide
grin.

Then Jim joined Wally, and kept his end up while his chum put on the
runs. Nothing came amiss to Wally that day--slow balls, fast balls,
"yorkers," "googlies"--the science of Mulgoa went to earth before the
thin brown schoolboy with the merry face. Jim, however, was never at
ease, though he managed to remain in a good while; and eventually
Dickenson, a wiry little Mulgoa man, found his middle stump with a
swift ball--to the intense dismay of Norah, to whom it seemed that the
sky had fallen. Cecil smiled serenely.

"I had an idea Jim fancied himself as a bat!" said he.

"Jim never fancies himself at anything!" said Jim's sister,
indig