Dicky pondered lovingly over this letter, and his heart was not wholly free from the pangs of envy. He sighed to be a great cricketer like Notchy.
While he was thus occupied, a horseman coming along the country road drew rein opposite his gate, and springing from his saddle tethered his steed to the palings, and then advanced quickly down the garden path. The instant Dicky recognised him he sprang to his feet, and his fingers sought his hat instinctively.
“Good-evening, Dicky,” cried the newcomer, a handsome young man of rather dissipated appearance.
“Evenin’, my lord,” replied the confused farmer, uncovering.
Lord Jeffry, for he it was, threw himself carelessly upon one of the seats in the cottage porch, and lighted a cigar.
“Sit down, Wood,” he said to Dicky, who at once obeyed. “I want to have a chat with you.”
“Folks tell me, Wood," Lord Jeffry began with a keen glance at the simple farmer, “that you would like to be a great cricketer like your brother.”
Dicky’s eyes sparkled. It seemed to him that his chance of earning reputation had come at last.
“I’ve just ’ad a line fro’ Notchy,” he stammered.
“He’s been in luck, that brother of yours,” answered Lord Jeffry, with a cunning glance. “Why shouldn’t you follow his example?”
“Me!” exclaimed poor Dicky, scarcely believing his ears.
“Now, look here, Wood,” Lord Jeffry continued, impressively, “I’ve a mind to give you a chance, as I gave your brother Notchy nine years back, for I hear you shape a bit at cricket. Are you prepared to go with me down south to-morrow to play in a match? I’ll give you five guineas before we start, and if you shape to my liking you shall have fifty on the top of that. What d’you say to it, man?”
For a moment Dicky was speechless. Five guineas was the exact amount that Lord Bumper had given to Notchy.
“I fear I’m none good enough, my lord,” Dicky began nervously. “Nobbut I think as I could score plenty of notches if they didn’t always make me take last hands.”
“You’ll manage all right,” cried the young lord encouragingly. “You’ll find they won’t put you in last when you come back here again. Now, come, man, is it a bargain? Can the farm spare you for a week?”
“Maybe, now the hay’s all gathered,” replied Dicky thoughtfully. “But what shall I say to my old mother?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t tell her what you’re going for till you return,” said Lord Jeffry hastily. “Why, man, cricket’s just the job for a farmer. You’ll be able to earn a pot of brass if you do well, and have plenty of time to look after your farm besides.”
“Well, my lord,” answered Dicky with sudden resolution, “it’s mighty good o’ you to give me such a chance, and I’ll come wi’ you, hanged if I won’t!”
“You’re a sensible fellow, Dicky,” cried Lord Jeffry, looking extremely gratified. ***** Hamble Green common is in the centre of the village, so a very proper place for a cricket ground. Old fogies can come hither
