Rowland takes centre, twists the handle of his bat round and round in his hands, and is heard amid the general hush to say, "No, no trial." Austin glances round at the motionless figures of his comrades, signals to _long-on_ to stand a little deeper, and then delivers the ball.

With an easy and graceful forward stroke, the batsman returns it sharply in the direction of the opposite wicket, and an almost imperceptible movement, like the releasing of a spring, takes place among the fielders.

So begins the battle.
"Twenty up!" had just been called from the pavilion when a sharp catch in the slips disposed of Parkes.
"Never mind!" cried "Rats." "Here comes old Ally; he'll make them trot round a bit!" The captain commenced his innings with a heart-warming leg hit, which sent the ball to the boundary, a wave of legs and arms marking its track as the spectators, with a joyous yell, rolled over one another to escape being hit.
For some time cheer followed cheer, and "The Happy Family" clapped until their hands smarted; then suddenly there arose a prolonged "_Oh, oh!_" from all the field.
"Hullo! what's the matter ?" asked Bibbs, looking up from the book he was reading.
"What's the matter ?" shouted Maxton wrathfully, snatching away the volume and banging Bibbs on the head with it.

"Why don't you watch the game?
Old Ally's bowled off his pads!" It was only too true: the captain's wicket was down, and "The Happy Family," after a simultaneous ejaculation of "_Blow it!_" tore up stalks of grass, and began to chew them with a stern expression on their faces.
This disaster seemed but the forerunner of others.

Redfern, the next man, had hardly taken his place at the wicket when a sharp _click_, the glitter of bails twirling in the air, and a Wraxby shout of "Well bowled!" announced his fate; while ten minutes later Rowland, one of the mainstays of the home team, was caught in a most provoking manner at _cover-point_.
"Oh, bother it all!" sighed "Rats;" "this is nothing but a procession." "Now, Oaks, old chap, do your best for us!" cried Allingford.
"All right," returned the other, laughing, as he paused for a moment outside the pavilion to fasten the strap of his batting-glove; "I'm going to make runs this journey, or die in the attempt." Oaks was undoubtedly a regular Briton, just the sort of fellow to turn the fortunes of a losing game.