And then both stopped to listen, but not a sound could they hear anything like a reply. There was a regular deep humming from the gnats and flies; the twittering of a few distant birds; but with these exceptions all was solemn silence.
The boys had been out in the woods ever since three o’clock, seeking for eggs for the cabinet, and had been very successful; but now the sun was setting, and the last rays were turning the sky overhead into one glorious golden canopy; the forest shades were getting deeper, and as Fred said, he would not have cared only it was so dreadfully quiet, and Harry was lost; and what was worse than all was, they were lost themselves; and this is how it fell out:
Mr Inglis had been talking about the collection of eggs they had in the little museum, and said he would go with the boys to Beechy Wood, to see if they could get a few more specimens; for he particularly wanted two or three eggs rather difficult to obtain, such as the great spotted woodpecker’s, hawfinch’s, and coletit’s.
“Oh, do let’s go to-day, Papa,” said Harry, clapping his hands. “That will be capital.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” said Philip.
“No; not to-day,” said the Squire; “I have several business matters to attend to in the town, so you had better play cricket in the field, and perhaps we may start to-morrow.”
Not the least disappointed of the trio was Fred, to whom the very name of wood sounded romantic; he almost expected to find such a cave as Ali Baba hit upon when out with his donkey, wood-cutting; or that the place they went to would be the identical forest where the redbreasts covered the unfortunate babes over with leaves when they laid down and died. But it was of no use to be disappointed; they must wait till another day, and, therefore, they went into the field to play cricket till dinner-time.
Cricket is a capital game: it looks well to see light, active figures chasing the ball when the batsman has thrown all his power into the leg hit, and sent the ball bounding and skimming far away beyond the farther fielder; then backwards and forwards run the men at the wickets, while the onlookers cheer and shout at the bowler’s prowess, as he stops the thrown-up ball, and hurls it at the wicket-keeper, who, with apparently one motion for catching and knocking off the bailes, puts the hard hitter out.
Ah, it’s a noble game, is cricket! it puts muscle on young bones, sharpness in young eyes, tone in constitution, and a readiness to meet difficulties and to parry them. Health, that rosy-cheeked goddess, seems to have chosen the game for her own, and to love to place the reflection of her own cheeks upon those of the players, and to make them ruddy brown as well. But, somehow or other, cricket grows to be rather dull and tedious when the players are idle and will not work. Everything, if it is worth doing at all, is worth doing well: the heart must be in it, and it must be done, as the sailors say, “with a will.” When you go to play cricket, it must not happen that you have your mind out in Beechy Wood seeking for woodpeckers’ nests; or else it will be something the same with you as it was with our lads on that bright July day, when things would keep going wrong. Harry would bowl too swiftly, and send the ball right past the wicket ever so far, for Philip to fetch back; and then, again, Philip would hit so savagely, and make Fred run so far after the rolling ball, which in its turn was obstinate, and would keep creeping amongst the long grass, and getting lost; or amongst the stinging-nettles, where Fred, who did not know their qualities, was stung, and had to be rubbed with dock leaves, when they could find any, which, either from idleness or their unrule-like absence, was not for some time. Then Harry sent the bailes flying with a vicious ball as soon as Fred went in for his innings, and so they were lost, and had to be found; and soon after, while Harry was in, Fred threw the ball up so sharply, that Phil, in catching, missed it, and received a blow in the stomach that made him lie down and brought the tears into his eyes, as much from vexation as pain. Then the sun would shine so hotly, and the flies tease, and the nasty cows had been all over the place where they generally played; so at last the game of cricket came to a stand-still till dinner-time; when, having left their bats and stumps in the field, they went in to the mid-day meal.
After dinner, they returned to the cricket-ground, but matters were worse than ever: the flies seemed to be savage to think that the boys had been having a hearty meal while they had been fasting, so they set to work to see if they could not take it out of them, and began by attacking Fred, then Harry, then Philip; till at last, what with the heat, the idle feeling, and the teasing of the flies, the boys gave up playing in despair, and stood lounging under the great cedar, cross, tired, and ill-tempered.