With the spring came the out-door sports of the season; among others
that of ball--for boys were boys, and played at ball even in those
faraway days--a game called trap-ball. Even yet in some parts of England
it is played just as it was in Myles Falworth's day, and enjoyed just as
Myles and his friends enjoyed it.

So now that the sun was warm and the weather pleasant the game of
trap-ball was in full swing every afternoon, the play-ground being an
open space between the wall that surrounded the castle grounds and that
of the privy garden--the pleasance in which the ladies of the Earl's
family took the air every day, and upon which their apartments opened.

Now one fine breezy afternoon, when the lads were shouting and playing
at this, then their favorite game, Myles himself was at the trap
barehanded and barearmed. The wind was blowing from behind him, and,
aided perhaps by it, he had already struck three of four balls nearly
the whole length of the court--an unusual distance--and several of the
lads had gone back almost as far as the wall of the privy garden to
catch any ball that might chance to fly as far as that. Then once more
Myles struck, throwing all his strength into the blow. The ball shot up
into the air, and when it fell, it was to drop within the privy garden.

The shouts of the young players were instantly stilled, and Gascoyne,
who stood nearest Myles, thrust his hands into his belt, giving a long
shrill whistle.

"This time thou hast struck us all out, Myles," said he. "There be no
more play for us until we get another ball."