crying "hold." The shepherd is an old hand, and up to all the dodges. He
tries them one after another, and very nearly gets at Willum's head
by coming in near, and playing over his guard at the half-stick; but
somehow Willum blunders through, catching the stick on his shoulders,
neck, sides, every now and then, anywhere but on his head, and his
returns are heavy and straight, and he is the youngest gamester and a
favourite in the parish, and his gallant stand brings down shouts and
cheers, and the knowing ones think he'll win if he keeps steady; and
Tom, on the groom's shoulder, holds his hands together, and can hardly
breathe for excitement.

Alas for Willum! His sweetheart, getting tired of female companionship,
has been hunting the booths to see where he can have got to, and now
catches sight of him on the stage in full combat. She flushes and turns
pale; her old aunt catches hold of her, saying, "Bless 'ee, child,
doan't 'ee go a'nigst it;" but she breaks away and runs towards the
stage calling his name. Willum keeps up his guard stoutly, but glances
for a moment towards the voice. No guard will do it, Willum, without the
eye. The shepherd steps round and strikes, and the point of his stick
just grazes Willum's forehead, fetching off the skin, and the blood
flows, and the umpire cries, "Hold!" and poor Willum's chance is up for
the day. But he takes it very well, and puts on his old hat and coat,
and goes down to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of
mischief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off,--

"Now doan't 'ee, Rachel! I wouldn't ha' done it, only I wanted summut
to buy 'ee a fairing wi', and I be as vlush o' money as a twod o'
feathers."

"Thee mind what I tells 'ee," rejoins Rachel saucily, "and doan't 'ee