Grace continued to bowl even wilier and slower than before. Runs were very difficult to obtain, but, nevertheless, I warily, cautiously obtained a few. The bulk of them were made by means of leg touches and pushes, and occasional big singles into the country. She was too slow to cut; behind-the-wicket strokes were, by Rectory rules and the laws of single wicket also, ineligible. But I was able once to regale myself with a hit past cover for three. This was the only time, however, that I got a chance to play my favourite stroke, as the bowler was evidently of opinion that it was too expensive to feed. I had made twenty-three by careful play when I got into two minds with one that curled outrageously, and hung as well. I returned it as tamely as possible to the bowler, who clasped it lovingly and said: “Poor old Dimmy! Did ’um, then!” Thereon she walked off under the trees to a little light and liquid refreshment, which for her partook of the nature of that innocuous concoction known as stone-ginger; whilst I ruefully unbuckled the pads of the ironical Toddles. All things considered, I felt that I had no reason to be dissatisfied with my score. Twenty-three was quite the maximum of what I had expected to get, as from the first I had not been disposed to under-rate the excellence of Grace’s bowling. Indeed, she was kind enough to say herself, in a reflective tone,-- “Your batting’s really very decent, Dimmy, very decent, indeed, you know. So glad you watch the ball. Strikes me you’re the sort o’ man to get runs on a bad wicket. With a bit more experience you ought to do things. Oughtn’t he, boys?” “Oh, of course,” said T. S. M. “If he can get twenty-three against your bowlin’ he must be phenomenal. Reg’lar freak--fit for Barnum!” “You’ve never got twenty-three against it, Tommy, anyhow,” said Grace. “Such a beas’ly bore, don’t-cher-know,” said the Harrow captain wearily, “to keep hittin’ girls to the fence, and then havin’ to go and fag after it for ’em.” “Why, you know quite well, Tommy,” said his sister, in a very pained voice, “that I’ve never let you fetch a ball for me in your life. No, never. It’s shameful of you, Tommy, to talk like that, ’cause it’s not true. Look here, you men, it’s not true, is it?” “Oh, dear, no,” said Toddles. “You’d scorn to do it, Grace. We all know that. You’re far too good a sportsman--I mean sportswoman.” “Stick to the man,” said Grace. “Sounds so much primer, somehow.” “What’s Toddles up to now?” said Charlie suspiciously. “Whenever he talks to Grace in that kind of way there’s something behind it. Does he want to smoke in the drawing-room, or is it breakfast in bed? Grace, distrust that man. Last time he was allowed to put sugar in his tea with his fingers, instead of the tongs.” “I like that,” said Grace. “Why, that’s what you all do, you horrible creatures! Even Dimmy does.” “‘Even Dimmy does!’” repeated Archie. “That’s your batting, my boy.”