was with the first battalions over the Messines Ridge.

Thus the affair was taken out of our hands, and when the day arrived
we pitched the stumps where Kippy, giving due consideration to the
Colonel's foliage, thought the light was most advantageous.

The Village won the toss, and old Tom Pratt took guard and proceeded
to dig himself in by making what he termed his "block-hole." I
visualised the choleric blue eye of the Colonel and shuddered.

For a time matters proceeded uneventfully. Then, at the fall of the
fourth wicket, the game suddenly developed, Jim Butcher, batting at
the pergola end, giving us an exhibition of his famous scoop shot,
which landed full pitch through the drawing-room window. It was a
catastrophe of such dimensions that even the boldest spirit quailed
before it, and the Colonel's butler, batting at the other end,
immediately dissociated himself from the proceedings and bolted from
the field.

Kippy, as befitted a warrior of parts, was the first to recover.

"'Ere," he exclaimed, "we carn't 'ave this; wot do you think the
Colonel will say?"

I do not suppose there was anyone who had not thought of it.

"We got to 'ave fresh rules," Kippy continued. "Anyone breaking a
winder 'as to retire, mend the winder, and 'is side loses ten runs."
Only a super mind could in the time have framed a punishment so
convincingly deterrent.