"May I come in, Miss Woodford?" said Mr. Medhurst, as he entered. "You sound lively in here."
"Oh, yes—daddy, come—Bob's got——"
"Hush!" interposed Margaret, shaking her head at the eager child, who immediately stopped short in her sentence with, "Oh, I am not to tell."
"Bob's got, what?" asked Mr. Medhurst, turning to his son, with interested face, from which the thunder-clouds of old days were absent.
Bob coloured furiously, then rather shyly drew out his trophy.
"Only this, father," he said awkwardly, placing it in Mr. Medhurst's outstretched hand.
"What—colours! Yours? First Eleven? Well done, Bob! I am pleased! I congratulate you; it's something worth having—reminds me, too, of old days," he finished, with a laugh.
"Why, did you play cricket, daddy?" asked Ellice.
"Well, little lady, I suppose I did; was School Captain one season; if I remember rightly, just missed my blue at the 'Varsity by a bit of bad luck."
"Father!" exclaimed Bob, his eyes shining, "do tell us about it?"