The Squire and Lionel advanced to greet their visitors. They shook hands with Fordingbridge, Joel Tibber, and those members of XI whom they knew personally. Mild chaff was exchanged. The Squire inquired after the twins. “Two big bouncing boys,” proclaimed the father. “It would do your heart good to see them, Sir Geoffrey.” “The more the merrier. Never expected to see you.” “I’m not playing, but I had to come. Lionel looks as fit as a fiddle.” “Yes, yes; India’s made a strong man of him.” Lionel bandied pleasantries with Mr. Tibber, the captain of Long-Baddeley— “I’ve put on chain armour under my flannels, Joel.” “Ah-h-h! Pitch won’t be so nice an’ bumpy, seemin’ly, after them there rains.” He spoke with sincere regret. A hard, bumpy pitch meant many wickets for Mr. Tibber. He preferred village greens for his deadly work. The Parsons, wearing his Cambridge “blue,” joined the group. In the cricket field he looked ten years younger. Lionel couldn’t see either Moxon or Joyce. But the onlookers had not yet arrived. Margot and Lady Pomfret were expected at noon. Joel won the toss and elected to bat. Hamlin and his merry men took the field. Fordingbridge and the Squire served as umpires. The two elder Mucklows went on to bowl. George, the youngest of the brethren, approached his captain. “I can bowl a wicked ball,” he said. He pronounced “bowl” as if it rhymed with “jowl.” “No, you can’t,” replied the Parson, decisively. “I thinks I can,” urged George. “God A’mighty made us Mucklows bowlers, He did.” “You stand in the deep field, George. If you miss a catch, you can go to Canada and never return.” He patted him pleasantly on the shoulder. George retired, grumbling. One of the Long-Baddeley batsmen asked for a trial ball. After heated discussion this was conceded as a favour, not a right. Fishpingle quoted the law, upholding the rigour of the game, like Mrs. Battle. Another discussion followed the first delivery, “no-balled” by his lordship. Fishpingle sustained the decision. Lionel was fielding at square leg, and between the overs and opportunities of chatting with Fordingbridge, who, matrimonially, as deemed by the county to have gone a “mucker.” Lionel, however, noticed that he seemed the better for it. “You must come and see my missis, Lionel. She’s a topper. We’re farmers. Rise with the lark, my boy. I feel another man. It came to this—I had to take hold or let go. Now I save all the money which I used to spend away from home. And I’m on the spot to check wastage.” “The simple life, Johnnie, agrees with you.” “Lord love you, I was slidin’ downhill when you went to India. Couldn’t look an egg in the face at breakfast, and bored with everything and everybody.”