white flannels and pink belts, we
felt that the eyes of the world were upon us, and were more convinced
than ever that anything short of victory would be the most terrible of
all calamities which could fall on our youthful heads.

Our great hope was in Steel, our captain, one of the best cricketers
Parkhurst had ever produced; and for coolness and self-confidence
without his equal anywhere. We all adored him, for he never snubbed
youngsters, or made light of their doings. If, during practice, a
fellow bowled, batted, or fielded well, Steel took care to encourage
him; but if any one played carelessly, or bungled, Steel scowled, and
that unlucky man's name disappeared for a season from the list of
candidates for a place in the first eleven.

See him now stroll up to the wickets, with his wicket-keeping pads on,
talking on the way to one of the two men who are to officiate first with
their bats on behalf of Westfield.

We youngsters can't understand such coolness, and keep our eyes on him,
as if every moment we expected to see him fell his rival to the earth.
It's a great matter to be used to a thing. I, who was now making my
first appearance in the first eleven, felt as if the world began,
continued, and ended within the area of this Westfield meadow; but here
was some one who, to all appearances, made no more of the great match
than he would of his dinner.

But away now with all thoughts but cricket! The ball we have been
tossing about idly is taken into custody by the umpire; Steel is behind
the wickets, looking round to see if we fielders are all in our places,
and motioning one or two of us to stand deeper or closer in, as he deems
advisable. The Westfield batsman who is to receive the first over is
getting "middle"; our bowler is tucking up his sleeves, and gripping the
brand-new ball in his hand; the ground-keeper is chasing a few small
boys back behind the ropes; and the scorers in the big tent are dipping
their pens in the ink.

Altogether, it is a critical moment in my life--a moment that seems as
long as a whole day.

"Play!" cries the umpire; and our bowler delivers his first ball--not a
very alarming one, and evidently meant more as a test of the ball and
the pitch than as a serious attack on the enemy's wicket. My readers of
course do not expect me to give a full, true, and particular account of
every ball bowled on that eventful day. That would be as tedious for
them as for me. But I shall do