better to do? Are there no souls to save?"

"No, but there's a match to save," suggested Doe.

There was perhaps some justification for Penny's indignation, when
this indecent ecclesiastic scored two fours in succession, and
by his beaming face and intermittent giggle showed that he was
feeling a very carnal satisfaction in sending ten members of his
congregation, one after another, in search of the ball. Ultimately
he was caught low down in the slips, having compiled an excellent
thirty; and he walked off, hardly concealing a smile.

As he ran up the steps of the pavilion, Upton came down, drawing on
his gloves and ready to prove that Erasmus could exhibit very
creditable pedagogues, as well as Bramhall. This slender,
grey-haired master with the ruddy countenance was much favoured by
the ladies. He looked a young and blooming veteran. The boys of
Erasmus gave him a cheer (for he was a good man) and prayed that he
might not survive the first ball. He did, however, and held his end
up in dogged fashion, leaving Radley to develop the score, and only
occasionally taking a modest four for himself.

It was about this time that Radley got under a ball and sent a
chance whizzing towards me. It flew high, and I shot up my left hand
for it. The ball hit me right in the centre of the palm with such
force that it stung most painfully, and I had not the least
hesitation in dropping it. There were groans of disappointment from
the males, execrations from Penny, and murmurs of sympathy and love
from the female portion of the crowd. But my sensations were again
the opposite to the crowd's. The pain in my hand was exactly the
same as when Radley caned me years before on the left hand: and I
was reminded of the scene. "Put up your left hand," he had said
sarcastically. "You'll need the other for writing your lines." Now I
had accidentally put up my left. It was surely because I should need
the other for bowling him out. Such strange alleys do my thoughts
run along when I am woolgathering in the field.

It must be admitted that Honion was by this time a failure. Radley
was doing what he liked with the bowling. By six-thirty the score
stood at 180, and the Masters only required 70 to save them from the
innings defeat. There was an hour before them, and they had five
wickets in hand. But the light was not so good. We might do it yet.

Thirty minutes of that last hour passed, and in them forty runs were
scored at a cost of three wic