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Rh on and encouraging other people—like you.”

“I was considered a free, hard-hitting bat some few years ago,” exclaimed Mr. Cassock, suddenly remembering that in spite of his bulk he was only forty-five.

“It is a noble game,” answered Dolly. “Papa was mad on it. We’ve a cricket ground in the park here, you know. Don’t you agree with me, Mr. Cassock, that it is our duty to provide the people with healthy sports?”

“Undoubtedly, dear Miss Temple. Mens sana—” And the reverend gentleman dwelt lovingly upon the quotation, just as the fond mother exhibits an only child.

“An extraordinary girl!” thought Mr. Cassock, as he returned home, after obtaining the promise of many substantial subscriptions towards parochial charities. “But she’s very beautiful and very rich. That fellow Stole will be round there in a day or two. I’m glad I called first. After all, I think I’ll let those lads have their cricket field.”

In addition to being one of the most pious and charitably disposed of girls, Dolly Temple was a most vigorous sportswoman. Each morning before breakfast she went for an hour’s ride on horseback. Afterwards she rode on her bicycle round the parish to visit her “district.” During the afternoon she amused herself at golf or tennis, and in the evening she frequently had another spin on her bike through the country lanes.

Although the Rev. Athanasius Stole did call upon her at an early date, he did not apparently impress her very favourably, for she seemed to devote her whole attention to the parish of Mr. Cassock.

The astonishing change which came over the latter gentleman during the next few weeks was seen and admired of all men. Not only did the village boys obtain their cricket ground, but the rector himself frequently took part in their games. He even attempted to ride the useful animal that drew the rectory chaise, but after experiencing several awkward falls, and having heard, sub rosa, that his fair Puritan disapproved of horsemanship in the case of clergymen, he gladly renounced his steed in favour of a bicycle. Moreover, when a vacancy occurred for a curate he made up his mind, like another cleric of immortal renown, that “what the parish needed was a good fast bowler,” and made his selection accordingly. His new lieutenant, the Rev. John Trouncer, was an all-round cricketer of no mean order, and had lately left the ’Varsity, where he had just missed getting his blue.

“I regard Miss Temple,” explained Mr. Cassock to the young curate, “in virtue of her position, almost in the light of Squire of this parish, and I think it is our duty to please her as far as we can.”

“She’s a deu I mean, jolly pretty girl!” exclaimed the curate with enthusiasm. “I’d do anything in the world”

“Ahem!” interrupted the rector, with a cough of disapproval, “I fear that sport does not flourish here as much as I should like. Hitherto I am afraid that my curates have been rather effeminate.”

“They all seem to have been rotters,” exclaimed the Rev. Johnny Trouncer.

“Eh? Ah, yes, I see—a cricketing term!” answered Mr. Cassock. “Now, Mr. Trouncer, candidly speaking, what sort of an eleven do you think we can raise in the parish?”

“Very fair indeed, sir. Billy Jones, the grocer’s boy, is an excellent slow bowler, and the schoolmaster, you know, was asked to qualify as a pro. for Devonshire the year before last. He tells me he has not touched a bat since he came here.”

“Dear me! And tell me, Mr. Trouncer, how do you think I shaped at the nets this evening?”

This was a question of much delicacy, but the curate was a man of tact.

“Well, sir, when you hit ’em they go.”

“Yes, yes, that was always my forte.”

“But, if you will allow me to suggest, sir, you shouldn’t always play at the pitch of the ball; you mustn’t run away when they’re on the leg stick; and you must keep a straight bat. But that’ll all come with practice.”

“He’s as much idea of the game as a fat old Frenchwoman,” thought the Rev. Mr. Trouncer, as he returned to his lodgings at the close of this interview; “and I believe the old Johnny is mashed on little Dolly Temple.”

“Poor Stole! I’ve got the better of him this time,” reflected Mr. Cassock, after the curate had departed. “Dear Dolly is quite right. It is a clergyman’s duty to take the lead in field sports as well as in spiritual matters.”

During divine service the following Sunday, while the Rev. Athanasius Stole was reading the first lesson he became conscious that a very pretty girl was sitting in the front pew. Such occurrences did not usually attract the attention of the devout Athanasius, but as he immediately realised that the fair worshipper was Miss Dolly Temple, and as this was her first visit to his church, the recognition at such a time must be pardoned. There sat beside her a bullet-headed schoolboy of healthy complexion, and about twelve years old.