By-and-by there was a cricket-match in the farmer's meadow, Highcombe and Huntercombe eleven against the town of Staveleigh. All clubs liked to play at Huntercombe, because Sir Charles found the tents and the dinner, and the young farmers drank his champagne to their hearts' content.
Ruperta took her maid and went to see the match. They found it going against Huntercombe. The score as follows—
Staveleigh. First innings, a hundred and forty-eight runs.
Huntercombe eighty-eight.
Staveleigh. Second innings, sixty runs, and only one wicket down; and Johnson and Wright, two of their best men, well in, and masters of the bowling.
This being communicated to Ruperta, she became excited, and her soul in the game.
The batters went on knocking the balls about, and scored thirteen more before the young lady's eyes.
“Oh, dear!” said she, “what is that boy about? Why doesn't he bowl? They pretend he is a capital bowler.”
At this time Compton was standing long-field on, only farther from the wicket than usual.
Johnson, at the wicket bowled to, being a hard but not very scientific hitter, lifted a half volley ball right over the bowler's head, a hit for four, but a skyscraper. Compton started the moment he hit, and, running with prodigious velocity, caught the ball descending, within a few yards of Ruperta; but, to get at it, he was obliged to throw himself forward into the air; he rolled upon the grass, but held the ball in sight all the while.