The ball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack on the outside of the thigh, and bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they run two for a leg-bye amidst great applause and shouts from Jack's many admirers.

The next ball is a beautifully-pitched ball for the outer stump, which the reckless and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits right round to leg for five, while the applause becomes deafening.

Only seventeen runs to get with four wickets! The game is all but ours! It is over now, and Jack walks swaggering about his wicket, with his bat over his shoulder, while Mr.Aislabie holds a short parley with his men.

Then the cover-point hitter, that cunning man, goes on to bowl slow twisters.

Jack waves his hand triumphantly towards the tent, as much as to say, "See if I don't finish it all off now in three hits." Alas, my son Jack, the enemy is too old for thee.