e Model Man led out his warriors.

I sauntered across the pitch with the Treasure, and examined its
peculiarities. We were discussing a curious geological formation, midway
between the wickets, when our Fourth Officer approached in some glee at
a great discovery. He had found a little hill, rather wide of the
stumps, on one side, and he explained that whenever he dropped a ball
on this elevation, he must bowl an Ethiop.

"You see, my natural leg-break will take the ball dead into the wicket
every time," he said.

We hoped it might be so; and he begged us to keep the thing a profound
secret, because, as he said, if it got about that we were going to
utilise this hill to such an extent, the enemy would probably send out
and have it removed, or alter the pitch.

[Illustration: "DRIVEN BACK A TRIFLE."]

After the goats cleared away, and the juvenile spectators driven back a
trifle, our Model Man arranged his field. More correctly speaking, the
field arranged itself. Indeed, our team hardly proved as amenable as
might have been wished. The Doctor insisted on taking long-leg and
long-oft.

"Why?" asked his Captain, looking rather distrustfully at a buggy with
some red parasols in it, which would be extremely close to the Doctor at
long-leg.

"It isn't that, old chap," replied our physician, cheerfully, following
the Model Man's eye. "In fact, I'm not sure if I even know those girls.
I only suggested a place in the long field because I'm a safe catch.
That's important."

So he had his way.

Meantime, the Treasure found some other parasols--white ones--and placed
himself within easy chatting distance. Investigation proved that the
white parasols were protecting the Enchantress and her mother. The Model
Man said that he might just as well be on the ship as there. So he
ordered his man up to take the wicket. The Treasure came reluctantly,
and absolutely declined to keep wicket. He declared that it was simple
murder to make a person of his size attempt such a thing on such a
ground.

He led me aside privately, and said:

"Look here, you know that walking-stick of mine, manufactured from a
shark's backbone--the one you are always worrying me to give you? Well,
I will, when we go back to the ship, if you'll take the wicket. If you
fall at your post, then your heirs shall have it."

I closed on this bargain promptly, and while I dressed up in all sorts
of life-saving inventions used at cricket, the Treasure took an
u