TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston

How jolly to be home for the holidays, 1 thought to
myself. So far neither of us had said a word; but as
soon as we were out of the village strccl fit wasn't
our own village) he gave the pony a playful flick of
the whip and made the following remark: "I've got a
place for you in to-morrow's team." Subdued triumph
was in his voice and his face.

"What, for the Flower Show Match!" I exclaimed,
scarcely able to believe my cars. He nodded.

Now the Flower Show Match was the match of the
year, and to play in it for the first time in my life
was an outstanding event: words were inadequate.
We mutually decided not to gush about it.

"Of course, you're playing too?*' I inquired. He
nodded again. Dixon was one of the mainstays of the
village team—a dashing left-hand bat and a steady
right-arm bowler. I drew a deep breath of our local
air. I was indeed home for the holidays! Expert
discussion of to-morrow's prospects occupied the
remaining mile and a half to the house.

"Miss Sherston won't half be pleased to see you,"
he said as we turned briskly in at the white gate.
"She misses you no end, sir."

Aunt Evelyn had heard us coming up the drive/
and she hurried across the lawn in her white dress.
Her exuberant welcome ended with: "But you're
looking rather thin in the face, dear. . . - Don't ..yew
think Master George is looking rather thin, Dixon?"..
We must^feed him up well before he goes back/'
Dixon smiled and led the pony and cart round to the
stable yard.

"And now, dear, whatever do you think has hap-
pened? I've been asked to help judge the vegetables
at the Flower Show to-morrow. Really, I feel quite
nervous! I've never judged anything except the

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