The next ball, the Town boys replied even more lustily, for Childers
ball removed the bails, and the game ended in a tie. Both parties
were equally well satisfied, and declared that a better game had
never been played at Dr. Parker's. As soon as the game was over
Frank, without waiting to join in the general talk over the game,
put on his coat and waistcoat and started at a run for home.

Frank Hargate was an only son. His mother lived in a tiny cottage
on the outskirts of Deal. She was a widow, her husband, Captain
Hargate, having died a year before. She had only her pension as
an officer's widow, a pittance that scarce sufficed even for the
modest wants of herself, Frank, and her little daughter Lucy, now
six years old.

"I hope I have not kept tea waiting, mother," Frank said as he ran
in. "It is not my beetles and butterflies this time. We have been
playing a cricket match, and a first rate one it was. Town boys
against the House. It ended in a tie."

"You are only a quarter of an hour late," his mother said, smiling,
"which is a great deal nearer being punctual than is usually the
case when you are out with your net. We were just going to begin,
for I know your habits too well to give you more than a quarter of
an hour's law."

"I'm afraid I am horridly unpunctual," Frank said, "and yet, mother,
I never go out without making up my mind that I will be in sharp
to time. But somehow there is always something which draws me away."

"It makes no matter, Frank. If you are happy and amused I am content,