We were admiring a stretch of lawn, newly cut and rolled. “Wouldn't that make a purty bit o' grass for a game o' cricket!” said Bettesworth. “'Struth, the ball 'd goo somewhere, if they could git it down as close as that!”

By easy and rapid transition we came to the subject of county cricket, and spoke of Surrey, then threatened with what was to be her first defeat that season. At this Bettesworth looked interested. “Ooh! he said, “Jimmy Woods got a bet on Surrey; sixpence for every match they plays this season. He've won every time as yet … 'Tis with some bloke as comes round. They got it on for every match. …”

“Were you ever a cricketer?”

“No, I was never no good at it; only terrible fond o' watchin' a game. But my father, he was a good cricketer. I've knowed 'em run all over the Enclosion to find 'n to play a game. He always worked up there in the woods, ye know. He could throw a ball further 'n anybody in these parts. Wonderful man for throwin', he was. But then, he was a tall, strong man—stood over six feet, he did, and with a good long reach. … They used to say as he could throw an' cut the weathercock off Moorways Church any time he mind to.