Laura's seat was between her two companions, and it was here the malheur occurred. During an interval in the game, one of the girls asked the governess's leave to speak to her cousin; and thereupon a shy lad was the target for twenty eyes. He was accompanied by a friend, who, in waiting, sat down just behind Laura. This boy was addressed by Miss Snodgrass; but he answered awkwardly, and after a pause, Laura felt herself nudged. "You can speak to him, Laura," whispered Miss Snodgrass.--She evidently thought Laura waited only for permission, to burst in. Laura had already fancied that the boy looked at her with interest. This was not improbable; for she had her best hat on, which made her eyes seem very dark--"like sloes," Chinky said, though neither of them had any clear idea what a sloe was. Still, a prompting to speech invariably tied her tongue. She half turned, and stole an uneasy peep at the lad. He might be a year older than herself; he had a frank, sunburnt face, blue eyes, and almost white flaxen hair. She took heart of grace. "I s'pose you often come here?" she ventured at last. "You bet!" said the boy; but kept his eyes where they were on the pitch. "Cricket's a lovely game ... don't you think so?" Now he looked at her; but doubtfully, from the height of his fourteen male years; and did not reply. "Do you play?" This was a false move, she felt it at once. Her question seemed to offend him. "Should rather think I did!" he answered with a haughty air. Weakly she hastened to retract her words. "Oh, I meant much--if you played much?" "Comes to the same thing I guess," said the boy--he had not yet reached the age of obligatory politeness. "It must be splendid"--here she faltered--"fun." But the boy's thoughts had wandered: he was making signs to a friend down in the front of the Stand.--Miss Snodgrass seemed to repress a smile. Here, however, the little girl at Laura's side chimed in. "I think cricket's awful rot," she announced, in a cheepy voice. Now what was it, Laura asked herself, in these words, or in the tone in which they were said, that at once riveted the boy's attention. For he laughed quite briskly as he asked; "What's a kid like you know about it?" "Jus' as much as I want to. An' my sister says so 's well." "Get along with you! Who's your sister?" "Ooh!--wouldn't you like to know? You've never seen her in Scots' Church on Sundays I s'pose--oh, no!" "By jingo!--I should say I have. An' you, too. You're the little sister of that daisy with the simply ripping hair." The little girl actually made a grimace at him, screwing up her nose. "Yes, you can be civil now, can't you?" "My aunt, but she's a tip-topper--your sister!" "You go to Scots' Church then, do you?" hazarded Laura, in an attempt to re-enter the conversation. "Think I could have seen her if I didn't?" retorted the boy, in the tone of: "What a fool question!" He also seemed to have been on the point of adding: "Goose," or "Sillybones."