"It's a shame! I always seem to get left out of things!" grumbled the little girl, with a very aggrieved countenance, sitting down upon a rusty anchor, and nursing her nettled hand tenderly.
"It's your own fault this time, at any rate," said a companion, with scant sympathy. "There are plenty of dock leaves growing under the cliff if you want them."
"Bravo, Bertie! Well hit!"
"Quick with that ball, Arthur!"
"Play up, Bertie!"
"Well run! Well run!"
"Oh, he's out! Hard luck!"
"Whose turn is it now?"
"Where is she?"