"Gad, Gerard, you'll
be the death of me yet!" he cried. Often he said the same thing,
for at every turn I amazed him by the way in which I entered into
the sports of the English.
There is a game called cricket which they play in the summer, and
this also I learned. Rudd, the head gardener, was a famous
player of cricket, and so was Lord Rufton himself. Before the
house was a lawn, and here it was that Rudd taught me the game.
It is a brave pastime, a game for soldiers, for each tries to
strike the other with the ball, and it is but a small stick with
which you may ward it off. Three sticks behind show the spot
beyond which you may not retreat. I can tell you that it is no
game for children, and I will confess that, in spite of my nine
campaigns, I felt myself turn pale when first the ball flashed
past me. So swift was it that I had not time to raise my stick
to ward it off, but by good fortune it missed me and knocked down
the wooden pins which marked the boundary. It was for Rudd then
to defend himself and for me to attack.
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