ve this home anew.

One Saturday afternoon, those boarders who had not been invited out
were taken to see a cricket-match. They were a mere handful, eight or
nine at most, and Miss Snodgrass alone was in charge. All her friends
[P.154] being away that day, Laura had to bring up the rear with the
governess and one of the little girls. Though their walk led them
through pleasant parks, she was glad when it was over; for she did not
enjoy Miss Snodgrass's company. She was no match for this crisply
sarcastic governess, and had to be the whole time on her guard. For
Miss Snodgrass was not only a great talker, but had also a very
inquiring mind, and seemed always trying to ferret out just those
things you did not care to tell--such as the size of your home, or the
social position you occupied in the township where you lived.

Arrived at the cricket ground, they climbed the Grand Stand and sat
down in one of the back rows, to the rear of the other spectators.
Before them sloped a steep bank of hats gaily-flowered and
ribbon-banded hats--of light and dark shoulders, of alert, boyish
profiles and pale, pretty faces--a representative gathering of young
Australia, bathed in the brilliant March light.

Laura's seat was between her two companions, and it was here the
malheur occurred. During an interval in the game, one of the girls
asked the governess's leave to speak to her cousin; and thereupon a shy
lad was the target for twenty eyes. He was accompanied by a friend,
who, in waiting, sat down just behind Laura. This boy was addressed by
Miss Snodgrass; but he answered awkwardly, and after a pause, Laura
felt herself nudged.

"You can speak to him, Laura," whispered Miss Snodgrass.--She evidently
thought Laura waited only for permission, to burst in.

Laura had already fancied that the boy looked at her with interest.
This was not improbable; for she had her best hat on, which made her
eyes seem very dark--"like sloes," Chinky said, though neither of them
had any clear idea what a sloe was.

Still, a prompting to speech invariably tied her tongue. She half
turned, and stole an uneasy peep at the lad. He might be a year older
than herself; he had a frank, sunburnt face, blue eyes, and almost
white flaxen hair. She took heart of grace.

"I s'pose you often come here?" she ventured at last.

"You bet!" said the boy; but kept his eyes where they were on the pitch.

"Cricket's a lovely game ... don't you think so?"

Now he