"I did: The Book of Games; it was at the top, wrapped up in paper, and I sent it into my room so as to be safe."
"Well, you are a fellow!" cried Harry. "Never mind; we'll read all through it to-night. Let's begin our way to-day. There lies the ball, and we must start fair. I'll say one—two—three, and away! and then we must kick."
The boys stood face to face with the ball between them, and so close that their toes nearly touched it.
"Ready?" said Harry.
"Yes."
"Then one—two—three—and away!"
Phra was quick as lightning almost, and at the word away! he kicked at the ball; but Harry, instead of kicking, thrust it a little on one side so as to get a kick to himself, and he got it, right on the shin.
"Oh!" he cried, beginning to hop on one leg, while Phra sent the ball flying towards his goal, and ran after it at full speed.
"Hi! stop! stop! stop!" shouted Harry.
But Phra was too much excited to halt. He was finding a certain amount of satisfaction in delivering kick after kick to the yielding ball, which, in spite of a long voyage, proved to be wonderfully elastic, and flew here, there, and everywhere, except in the direction of the goal. For Phra's kicks were wanting in experience. He kicked too high, or too low, or out of centre; and the consequence was that he had a great deal of exercise, before a final kick sent the ball up to the hedge which formed one goal.